


the space between

by unniebee



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Drama, M/M, Masturbation, Mild Gore, Sex Toys, Violence, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-04-08 03:57:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 46,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4289973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unniebee/pseuds/unniebee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sehun is a young heir to an Executive-class family who inherits control of a factory.  His bedroom has a large window that faces across an alleyway and right at a tenement for workers, and he soon notices the man who lives across from him is stunningly handsome, despite the fact that he’s always wearing his breathing mask and Sehun can only see his eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xiukisses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xiukisses/gifts).



> This was a Christmas fic for [Jenn](http://xiukisses.livejournal.com/) that got WAY out of hand. Thanks as always to my beta [Jinx](http://wild-jinx.livejournal.com/) for holding my hand and listening to me whine.

"These will be your rooms, sir.”

Sehun sweeps past his new manservant and turns in a circle, visually inspecting the suite. It isn’t his parents’ home in Central District, but it’s nice enough, and it’s completely _his_ , which makes it far better than any old mansion. The decor looks a bit outdated - the floral brocade on the curtains went out of style at _least_ a year ago - but it’s well-furnished and everything looks well-made. It will do.

“I take supper at nineteenth bell each night,” he informs the servant, because one cannot expect the help to read one’s mind. “And Uncle has requested I be at his disposal beginning at sixth bell, so I will require breakfast at five. Please see it is done.” The servant - what was his name? Jonghun? No, Jong _in_ , that’s right - bows to show that he has heard. Sehun hopes he is competent; there’s _nothing_ worse than an incompetent personal assistant. “Other than that, I will likely be out the majority of most days, and will not be disturbed at night unless necessary. Am I understood?” Another bow, this time with a murmur of _yes, sir_. “Satisfactory. You are dismissed.”

The servant leaves without a further word, which Sehun appreciates. Finally alone, he takes the time to look around the rooms that will be his home for the foreseeable future. Two bedrooms, a sizable bath, a library, an entertaining parlor and, of course, a large office. 

Sehun smiles as he walks into the office, looking around. It’s the biggest room in the suite, one wall lined in shelves of books, reference materials, notes bound in leather journals; another a floor-to-ceiling chalkboard for drawing out diagrams and plotting schemes. The desk is solid, imported oak and has an angled drafting board built-in, with a gear-crank mechanism hidden inside to lift the top from flat to sharply angled at the touch of a lever. 

It’s an office fit for a business owner, and Sehun squelches down the childish urge to squeal in excitement. He is an _adult_ now, as evidenced by the office and the new title that goes with it, and he is determined to act like one.

The majority of his belongings have already been put away, but there are a few boxes he specifically ordered remain untouched, and Sehun immediately turns to unpacking them. Family heirlooms, mostly, though there is a box of his _most_ personal items - childhood mementos which would devastate him to lose, and personal pleasure toys which are no one’s business save his own. He finds locked, hidden places for those things, and sets the crates at the doorway to be removed, with one eye on the clock. It’s halfway to nineteenth bell, and if that manservant is worth keeping, supper will be arriving at nineteen on the dot despite him having less than an hour’s notice. It’s Sehun’s first test for the man - he will _not_ keep an incompetent servant.

He is arranging his grandfather’s mechanical instruments on the mantle - sadly outdated now, but a testament to his family’s contribution to the Sciences and good conversation pieces besides - when there is a knock. Sehun glances at the clock. It is nineteen, precisely. 

Perhaps the man is worth keeping, after all.

“Enter,” he calls, and sure enough it is Jongin, wheeling a cart full of cloche-covered plates. 

“Where would you like to dine, sir?” the man asks, his voice soft and his manner direct. Sehun decides, in that moment, that he likes Jongin.

“The parlor, please,” he briskly replies. “And always in the future, unless otherwise stated.” Routines are important, after all - they lend security to an otherwise insecure life.

He gets a bow, and Jongin wheels the cart through the foyer and into the parlor. He is swift and efficient about transferring the meal to the main armchair’s rotating table, and even thinks to turn on the lamp overhead, tapping it when the bulb flickers until the goldenrod light is stable. Yes, Sehun will be keeping him.

Until this point, Jongin’s every move has been calculated and economical, so it is a bit of a surprise to Sehun when he crosses the room for the seemingly useless purpose of drawing the heavy brocade curtains tight over the shades. He bows again, and moves to leave, but Sehun, curious, catches his arm. 

Jongin looks up at him, alarm veiled behind dark eyes. Sehun ignores it. He has no cause for alarm.

“Tell me,” he says, “why did you draw the curtains there, and not any others in the suite?”

Blinking, Jongin glances at the window in question, and then back to Sehun. “Sir,” he begins, sounding unsure, “the view is not desirable from that window.”

Sehun’s eyebrow raises. “Explain, please.”

“I - I’m sorry, sir,” Jongin says, sounding flustered. “The worker’s tenements are very close, only across the alley. It is a design flaw of the building, having windows facing that direction. Your uncle always ordered those curtains be closed.”

Oh. “I see,” he says, no longer interested. “So noted. Carry on.”

He releases Jongin’s arm, and the servant bows and lets himself out. Sehun settles in the armchair to eat, with the notes his uncle wanted him to review before beginning his introduction tomorrow spread out on the table beside him.

Jongin returns in precisely one bell to remove the cart and the used dishes, and bids Sehun goodnight at that time in few words. Sehun graces him with a nod of acknowledgement, noting with amusement that Jongin glances at the curtains, almost as if he had expected Sehun to move them again.

It brings the matter to Sehun’s attention, though, and once the door is shut behind his servant and he is again alone, Sehun cannot resist going to the window and twitching the curtain aside, long, thin fingers separating the slats of the shade to peer outside. 

Jongin was not exaggerating about the tenements being _very close_. It’s a smog-coated, scarred brick building, lined with huge windows in rows and columns, laid out evenly in a grid. Why anyone would build with brick in a city plagued with acid rain was beyond Sehun, and yet, they did, and quite often; he can only assume the huge windows were meant to minimize rain damage, as glass can withstand the acid much better than brick.

His own windows are well-kept, clear of smog build-up and shaded with metal awnings to protect from the rain, but the ones across the way are fogged over with smoggy haze and visibly pitted. Still, Sehun is close enough that he can see directly into the windows across the way, or he would, anyway, if they weren’t all curtained in terribly ugly umber canvas.

Wait, no. All except for one. Sehun drops the curtain back into place and moves to the other side of the large window, directly across from the open tenement. He pulls the curtain and shade aside and looks into the window opposite.

It takes him a moment to adjust, for his eyes to focus on the distance and discern what shapes are inside the tenement and what are only swirls in smog. Part of the reason it is difficult is because he is apparently focusing much further into the room than he should be; he’d expected it to be at least the depth of his main bedchamber, but to his surprise, it’s barely the depth of his bath chamber, perhaps five or six lengths deep. Once he refocuses at the shallower distance, he can make out the width of the room as well, and the very fact that he can see both side walls from the window is shocking. It can barely be called a room, in all honesty, it’s more like a hallway.

A _crowded_ hallway, it seems. There is a bed against the window; it seems to take up the entirety of that wall. Further in the room there is a small metal desk, little more than a single writing surface on legs, a low-backed, uncomfortable-looking metal chair, and an open bookcase, the contents of which are indiscernible from this distance but do not look like books. It’s a sad little room, really.

Movement catches his attention, and through the dirt on the window Sehun can see now that the room is inhabited, a figure outlined dimly in haze. He can’t make out any features, and it rather piques his curiosity, wondering who lives in such a tiny, depressingly crowded little space. So he steps away from the curtain and strides to his office to pick up his ocular and slide it onto his face, flipping down the magnifier lens. It isn’t truly meant for distance, but it does help, and standing at his own window it seems almost as if Sehun is standing on the ledge of the window opposite.

He’s glad he did, because once he refocuses, he sees that the man in the tenement across the way is _quite_ striking.

Reclined on the bed with his back to the wall, the man’s whole body is in profile against the window. He’s slight, it seems; though his arms are bare and appear to be well-muscled, he’s not a large man, not tall. His clothes are rough and drab, mostly canvas and leather, functional and very not stylish. There is a respirator mask over the lower half of his face, a fairly standard-issue one, molded stitched leather fitted with filters in metal holders on both sides. From the side like this, it means Sehun can barely see any of his face at all, his cheekbone and eye shaded partially by his most striking, eye-catching feature - his ragged, asymmetrical, and _bright rosy pink hair_.

Sehun blinks, sure his eyes are playing tricks on him. He refocuses, but no, that ridiculous mop is, in fact, on that man’s head. And Sehun knows that hair dying like that is possible, of course; but it’s such a ridiculous extravagance that it’s looked down upon even in the upper classes, a waste of effort, money, and time. He’s barely ever seen _anyone_ with unnaturally colored hair, let alone a _worker_.

He rather wonders what the man was thinking, where he got the money for the expensive chemicals, who he found to do it for him.

So distracted by the hair is he that Sehun barely registers the mask at first; but the man across the way reaches up with a broad, rough-looking hand to scratch at the edge of the leather, and Sehun abruptly realizes he’s wearing a respirator _inside_. Why would he bother? They’re terribly uncomfortable, a necessary evil outside in the smog but hardly needed indoors.

Clearly, the man is eccentric, possibly downright frivolous. Sehun resolutely removes his ocular and lets the curtain fall back into place, putting the man out of his mind in favor of the information he must absorb before morning.

Well, mostly out of his mind, anyway.

 

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

 

The factory isn’t at all what Sehun is expecting.

Thinking about it now, he actually isn’t certain what he was expecting. But his uncle meets him at the door with respirator on, and that’s the first hint Sehun has that maybe things are going to be... _different_ here.

He wants to know why he has to wear his mask inside the factory. It seems ludicrous to him, a building that’s not fitted with purifiers in the vents; it’s senseless. He _hates_ his mask - even though his is very nicely made, molded especially for his face, with active purifiers rather than filters, and even a little well for his favorite scented oil - and he knows everyone else in the damned city feels the same way, from the highest members of the Assembly down to the lowest street rabbit.

But he must wear it, and so he does, because despite the name, Beggar’s Lung is a danger to anyone who breathes too deeply. It’s not only a nuisance, it’s an active hindrance, particularly when his uncle introduces him to the management of the factory, the men and women who will become his subordinates in only a few weeks. He can’t see their faces, and therefore not only doesn’t know what they look like, he can’t judge their reactions to him. It’s _hobbling_.

With introductions made to management, Sehun’s uncle leads him out onto the catwalk, overlooking the factory floor. It’s a single huge, open room, striped with five long manufacturing lines, each one working on a different product. It’s darker than it should be in the middle of the day, and _far_ too hot, and Sehun realises this is because the smog that leaks into the building is building up inside, blocking light and trapping heat. Streaky sunlight from rows of thin windows near the ceiling illuminates the miasma in the air, nearly as thick as it is outside; but the light does not penetrate down to the floor, so each line is illuminated with the golden light of electric lamps, casting the workers into harsh shadow. 

Sehun leans on the railing, taking in each detail as fast as he can, because he knows his uncle will expect him to be knowledgeable right from the start. It takes a few moments to determine which lines are working on which products, and the line chiefs are easy enough to spot, because they’re the ones walking up and down the lines, inspecting work and encouraging workers.

The whistle blows for morning rest, and all the machines come to a grinding halt as the workers stand and stretch and shake out sore bodies. There’s surprisingly little conversation for the huge number of people on the floor; with over a hundred workers, Sehun would have expected the chatter to be deafening. It casts an eerie air, so many people being so silent.

Sehun’s uncle speaks into the megaphone, calling for the workers’ attention. They gather in a mob in front of line one, a crowd of dingy clothes and dirty faces hidden by respirator masks of varying qualities. His uncle’s explanation of his own promotion and the factory’s change in management is wordy and perhaps a bit pompous, but after so many years Sehun is used to his bluster, and listens with only half an ear as he peruses the crowd below. 

It would be very nice to see faces. Sehun is used to adapting his manner to the perceptions and expectations of the people he is interacting with; without expressional feedback he feels a bit off-center. His uncle, he knows, would tell him it does not matter what the workers think of him, but Sehun believes otherwise, his theories of constructive management developed in university, over late night dinners and morning rides with friend and fellow schoolmate Kyungsoo. Just as one would not expect a mistreated dog to wag its tail, one cannot expect a worker to do their best work for a man they despise, no matter how much better-educated or higher-status that man might be.

He straightens his back as his uncle formally introduces him to the floor workers, his posture studiously relaxed and confident as he takes over speaking. Sehun’s introduction of himself is well-rehearsed and includes a short, not over-detailed outline of his achievements in university and in the field of manufacturing, as he wishes to establish himself as a knowledgeable figure from the get-go. 

After all, he is young, and people will make assumptions.

He’s in the middle of his litany when a sharp voice calls up from the crowd. “Come down here and we'll show you _education_ , you porcelain rump-humper!”

It startles him, and he stops mid-sentence, his eyes flicking to the part of the crowd from which the voice came. It’s impossible to tell who spoke, as everyone’s mouths are covered - another drawback of the respirators - but he spots a shock of bright pink hair and stops searching.

Now, he can see the eyes of the pink-haired man. They’re dark and almond-shaped, heavily-lashed, quite beautiful - and _angry_.

His uncle is tugging the megaphone from his hand, coldness in his eyes as he raises it to call for the cretin to step forward. No one does, of course, because even workers are not that stupid, and Sehun can hear the fury in his uncle’s voice as he orders the midday meal withheld from the entire floor as punishment.

“Uncle,” Sehun says, a hand on his uncle’s wrist and his voice raised to be heard without the megaphone, “that isn’t necessary.” He wishes, again, that his mouth wasn’t covered; a congenial smile would help considerably right now. “It hardly matters. Let them say what they wish.”

His uncle stares at him for a long moment, and Sehun tries to communicate confidence and sincerity with his eyes alone. Blasted masks.

“Very well,” his uncle finally says. “They’re going to be your problem soon, in any case.”

Excellent. Sehun glances down, taking in the reaction of the crowd; subdued but visibly surprised. Good. Let them realize that he will be different.

He catches the eyes of the pink-haired man, and finds them narrowed at him consideringly.

 

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

 

The first day is exhausting, which is to be expected, and Sehun is relieved to return to his suite, to take off his respirator and loosen his cravat. Before he forgets everything he’s seen and heard and considered and thought up today, he makes for his office, slides a new piece of chalk into the metal holder and starts to scribble on his chalkboard wall, noting down everything he can think of. He’s at it for what’s left of the afternoon and well into the evening, changing the colors to highlight certain thoughts and scratching lines to connect them, taking advantage of his height and long limbs to make use of every open place on the wall. When he’s done, he steps back, looks at the design he’s created, and searches for patterns; those patterns are transferred to a more legible, more permanent place in his ink-written notes, a plan of action taking shape on the parchment.

That done, he glances at the clock. It is still a bell until his dinner will be brought to him, so Sehun indulges in a bath, albeit a short one. His mind is still working as he soaks and scrubs, turning over his plans in his mind, looking for pitfalls, for flaws. He dresses in his office, scribbling more ideas with one hand while doing up his trousers with the other.

One of the things he was given today is the personal records of all of the management staff, and once he is clean and dressed for an evening alone, Sehun takes them to his parlor and sets them by his chair to be perused over dinner. The heavy, closed curtains catch his attention, standing out as the only ones in the suite that are drawn, and before Sehun thinks the better of it, he moves to the window and pushes the curtains aside just enough to look across the way.

The smog is lighter today, and Sehun can clearly see the pink-haired man, moving about in his room across the way. He’s pulling something off of his bookcase - clothes, Sehun realizes, seeing the way the fabric droops in his hands. His clothes are on the bookcase? What nonsense. A waste of good shelf space.

That thought is wiped totally from Sehun’s mind when the man’s fingers go to the buckles on his vest, and he realizes the man is undressing.

Sehun blinks in surprise, watching as the vest falls away and is carefully folded and placed on the shelf. The shirt comes next, opened one button at a time from top to bottom, revealing a larger and larger slice of extraordinarily pale skin. Muscled shoulders twist as the shirt is pulled off of them, and Sehun’s mouth is suddenly rather dry. 

He wants to march over there and give the man a shake - _you’re in full view of the window!_ But of course, every curtain on both sides of the alley is closed, but for his. Clearly, he thinks he is alone.

After all, why would anyone in the owner’s home be looking at the tenements?

The shirt is coarse and a terribly ugly color, but it is folded and put away with the same care as the vest. Sehun appreciates that about the working class, the way they take care of their things. Too many of his peers treat possessions as disposable, which strikes Sehun as an obnoxious waste of resources.

The pink-haired man is standing beside his bed now, fully facing the window, as close as he can be to Sehun with the furniture and the buildings and the chasm of the alley between them. Sehun sees that his original impression of the man as _slight_ was a bit off-the-mark; he is slim of stature but surprisingly well-muscled, limbs thick and torso hard. His hands drop to his beltline, opening the buckle and pulling it from the loops casually, his attention clearly on something else. 

And perhaps _he_ is distracted, but _Sehun’s_ focus is singlemindedly upon him, his breath held as the lacings of the trousers come undone. Calloused fingers curl into worn leather as Sehun’s own clench in the brocade of the curtains, and he catches a glimpse of dark hair very low down before a knock at the door startles him into jumping away, the drapes falling closed behind him.

Shit, it’s nineteen. Sehun tells himself he should not curse his servant for following orders so well, even if it is inconvenient in this case. “Enter,” he calls, moving away from the curtains and quashing his urge to send Jongin away.

Jongin brings the cart in and sets out the meal as the night before. Sehun watches him and realizes he may be neglecting a valuable resource here.

“Jongin,” he says. The young man looks up, his face carefully neutral and betraying none of the apprehension that’s visible in his eyes.

“Yes, sir?”

“What can you tell me about the worker’s tenements?” Sehun takes a seat in his chair and motions for Jongin to sit on the couch that is across from it. Jongin can’t hide his startlement, but he does as he is bade, perching rather uncomfortably on the edge of the soft cushions.

“What would you like to know, sir?” he asks, his always-soft tone made softer with hesitancy.

“There are several of them, yes?” he asks. Jongin nods. “How are the workers divided amongst them?”

“Alphabetically, sir,” Jongin murmurs, “by family name.”

“Do they _all_ live in tenements?”

Jongin does not fidget under Sehun’s gaze, but he looks as though he wants to. “No, sir,” he says. “Only those who have no homes elsewhere.”

Ah, of course. “So, I suppose they are mostly the single workers, those without families or children.” Jongin nods, confirming his guess. That’s a good thing to know. “The tenements, what is the condition inside them? Are they well-maintained?”

Jongin opens his mouth, then closes it immediately, looking unsure and uncomfortable. Sehun knows that look - it’s the look servants always get when they know he isn’t going to like the answer to his question.

“Speak,” he says, gentling his tone. “I will never punish you for answering a direct question honestly.”

The servant does not look convinced, but he does continue. “I cannot speak to the maintenance, Sir,” he hedges. “I’m not privy to anything like that. But they are...barely more than horse stalls. Sir.”

Sehun’s lips press into a thin line. “Explain this comparison to me,” he says, rather more sharply than he intends.

“My apologies if I offend,” Jongin murmurs. His body is stiff, now, stiffer than ever before, and there’s something flinty in his normally gentle eyes. “They are cramped and smell of waste. Even for only one person, the space is quite...small. There is little privacy. And they are drafty.”

He doesn’t have to expound further - in this city, _drafty_ can mean _deadly_. “The buildings are not sealed?” Sehun asks, his sharpness fading into confusion. It seems like such an incredibly basic thing, how could it have been overlooked? “The air is not scrubbed?”

There’s a fleeting quirk in the corner of Jongin’s lips. “No, sir,” he says, his voice its softest yet. He doesn’t say more, but Sehun does not like the volumes spoken in his silence.

“Hmph.” He waves a hand. “Very well, you are dismissed.”

Jongin inclines his head and slips out of the room, silent as ever, leaving Sehun with a plate full of rapidly cooling supper and a mind full of thoughts. He eats quickly, ignoring the files he’s supposed to be perusing in favor of more notes scribbled on a notepad.

He may not be able to make any changes for a few weeks, but when he takes control of the factory, he’s going to be ready.

Sehun manages to last until after Jongin has taken away the dishes before curiosity overcomes propriety and he peeks out of the window once more. Once his eyes focus, he sucks in a startled breath.

The pink haired man is sprawled on the bed, his leather work trousers replaced with soft linen pants and wearing nothing else but the respirator, and the waistband of said pants is pushed down, exposing a thick, hard cock to the air.

Shocked, Sehun tells himself he should look away. But though the window is dirty and the light is dim, it’s as if the man is framing himself just for Sehun to see, the muscled curves of his body outlined prettily in the light of a trio of candles set on the desk behind him. It’s only just bright enough for Sehun to see shapes, fleeting glimpses of details as the light reflects just right, and as a shadowy hand strokes slowly over that thick shaft, Sehun cannot help but respond.

He ignores the tightening of his own trousers resolutely. He isn’t _that_ kind of perverse.

But he finds he also isn’t strong enough to pull himself away from the enticing image, to let the curtain drop and go back to his study and forget what he’s seen. No, instead he stands still and watches, watches as the man across the alley slowly and lazily pleasures himself, his chest heaving with breaths pulled through his cheap respirator, his knees raising after a few minutes to plant feet on the bed and thrust up against his hand. His soft pants are thin enough that the candlelight shines through them, outlining sturdy thighs and the undercurve of his ass, and Sehun’s not really certain why _that_ is the thing that brings a soft whimper of need to his lips, but it does. 

The man is close to his completion, Sehun can see it in the way his strokes become rougher and his head is thrown back, exposing long tendons that stretch up from his collarbones to disappear under the mask. Sehun finds his own breath coming short, his grip on the curtains constricting as the arch of the man’s back becomes more pronounced, the furrow of his eyebrows deeper, his movements more frantic. He comes, stripes of white that glisten in the candlelight, and Sehun lets out his breath in a long sigh, he knees going weak as if he is the one experiencing release.

The man collapses back down to the bed, and Sehun unclenches stiff hands from the curtain, regaining his normal breath as the man sits up and takes up a rag to wipe himself off. He re-settles his waistband low on his hips and gets up, crossing the bare distance to the desk. Sehun gets an utterly beautiful view of his side profile illuminated in candlelight before he blows the candles out and Sehun can see no more.

Sehun lets the curtain fall from numb fingers, suddenly feeling rather uncomfortable in his own skin. Why did he...what a rude thing, he’s just done. Very uncouth. He should be ashamed.

He _should_ be ashamed, but he can’t quite manage it.

Somehow, though, he does manage to not touch himself for the rest of the night, steadfastly working on his duties until he can keep his eyes open no more. He does not touch his own hardness as he changes for bed, and he does not touch it once the lights are out. 

He’s not sure why it’s important to him...but it is.

 

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

 

The next week passes in a blur of information.

By day, Sehun spends his time with his uncle, or with the management of the factory, or on the floor with the workers, learning the step by step processes. 

He is surprised when his uncle points at the line and tells him to roll up his sleeves, but he shouldn’t be. After all, his university professors made him get under auto coaches, take apart clocks, disassemble and reassemble firearms; a basic and tactile understanding of mechanics is a necessary foundation for factory management. And he doesn’t mind working on the line for short periods, staying just long enough to learn what each station does and moving on before the work becomes too repetitive. It’s terribly, _stiflingly_ hot, and Sehun does wish he’d worn something a little thinner today, but he manages.

As he goes down the lines, he hopes that he will see the pink-haired man, perhaps have a chance to ask his name, but he doesn’t. Wherever he is stationed, the other man always seems to be somewhere else, whether by accident or design.

Honestly, he doesn’t need more than a few repetitions to get each aspect of the process down pat - it isn’t difficult work, not in terms of skill - but he stays a few minutes longer in each and observes how each station is set up. Where the tools are, what the motions are, how the product is moved from station to station as each step of the process is completed. Much of the line system is quite outdated. There’s wasted money, effort and time throughout each line, and Sehun is surprised that his uncle has not already addressed at least the most glaring ones. Why, there are exposed machining parts, grinders and blades without guards of any description! Even while Sehun is there, a worker’s hand slips and the flood of blood that results leaves product ruined and the man unable to work for the rest of the day. It’s a loss that could have been prevented with a simple glass guard between the worker and the blade, and it baffles Sehun’s mind that no one has thought of that yet.

It’s things like this that have Sehun returning to his rooms every night absolutely _bursting_ with ideas. In one week, he fills an entire journal with notes on the improvements he wants to make, to the factory at large, to the layout of the lines, to the individual workstations. His chalkboard is erased and scribbled and erased again, and Sehun is thankful that no one ever comes into his rooms save for Jongin, because some of his ideas are _quite_ wild and would probably earn him scorn, or at least teasing.

His work would consume him utterly if it wasn’t for one thing - his window, and the pink-haired man across the alley. Because every night, after the supper plates are taken away and Sehun is guaranteed to be alone, he sets down his notes and wipes his chalky fingers off and stands at the window, leaning against the woodwork to watch and wait.

Sometimes, the pink-haired man is reading, or eating, or sleeping. Sometimes, he’s stretching, or doing calisthenics, and Sehun is as fascinated by the exercises themselves as he is by the way the man’s muscles clench. Sometimes he has someone with him, friends most likely, talking and laughing. Sometimes, he’s not there at all, but Sehun waits for him anyway, because standing still with his hands in the curtain and his eyes across the way is...contemplative, almost meditative. It’s the only thing that clears his mind of the thousands of ideas that run through them like a stream; without it he would never sleep.

He doesn’t catch sight of anything else...intimate. 

He tells himself he’s not disappointed.

But when he sees workers outside the owner’s mansion, squeegees on long poles to clean smog build-up off the windows, he takes the foreman aside and quietly contracts him to clean the windows of the tenements as well.

 

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

 

The usual knock at his door at fifth bell startles Sehun out of wakefulness. Groaning, he mumbles something in the general direction of the door and turns over.

He doesn’t register _why_ there was a knock until a soft, tentative voice at his bedroom door whispers, “Sir?”

Sehun blinks blearily. “Jongin? What is it?”

“It’s...it’s fifth bell, sir. Your breakfast?”

Panic courses through Sehun’s system - he’s _late_ , why didn’t his alarm clock ring! - but then he remembers the date and collapses. “Jongin,” he groans. “It’s rest day.”

“Oh. I assumed…” He sounds mortified, and Sehun sighs, dragging himself up into a sitting position. 

“No, it’s alright. Leave the tray, I should get up anyway.” 

He reaches over and turns on the lamp, watching as Jongin sets breakfast next to his bed. He’s as pressed and starched as he always is, in crisp black and white save for the amber silk of his pocket square, and Sehun frowns. “Why are you even working today?” he asks. Rest days only come every twelve days; _no_ one should be working.

He gets a blink. “Sorry, sir, but...why wouldn’t I be?”

By now, Sehun knows Jongin isn’t stupid. So he tries not to sound too condescending when he says, “Because it’s the twelfth?”

Jongin studies him carefully. “Forgive me, sir, but I see things must have been done differently in your home,” he says, soft and unassuming. “I am not allocated a rest day.”

Sehun freezes.

“You are not?”

Something in his tone must warn Jongin, because his back stiffens. “No. Sir.”

A frown creases Sehun’s forehead. “Who is responsible for staffing?”

“The housekeeper, sir.”

“I’ll have to talk with him. In the meantime, take the rest of the day off.”

Emotions flit across Jongin’s face in waves - shock, happiness, horror, settling into apprehension. “Sir, I - that is generous, sir, but who will - how will you - ”

“What?” Sehun asks, amused. “How will I eat? How will I get by? I assure you, Jongin, I will survive without you for one day.” Jongin looks torn between wanting to take it before he loses it, and wanting to do his job well, and Sehun’s tone softens. “I have been here for only six days, and you have already been an immense help to me,” he says, and means it. “Take the day off. I’ll expect you again tomorrow at five.”

Jongin smiles, wide and handsome and grateful. “Thank you, sir,” he says, and it’s easily the most sincere he’s ever been. Sehun returns his smile with a nod, and Jongin lets himself out.

The door shuts, and Sehun groans and gets out of bed. Since he’s awake, he may as well make himself useful.

 

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

 

As it turns out, his rest day is quite productive indeed, beginning in the morning with a visit downstairs to see the housekeeper. He finds out the housekeeper is not in, on rest himself, and returns in a righteous huff, with his arms full of what he could raid from the kitchens, to write a sternly worded letter regarding the overworking of his manservant. A manager should work _more_ than the individuals they manage, not less.

The rest of the day is filled with planning, and brainstorming, and maybe perhaps one nap, but only for a short period because rest day or not he is at a very important point in his career and he has precious little time to prepare. He nibbles all day from the foods he’s pinched from the kitchens, cold meats and savory flatbreads and a glass of brandy as a rare indulgence, and does not bother getting out of his sleep clothes at all. 

The lack of social interaction and movement has him feeling stiff and hazy as the sun sets, streaking the smog in pale amber and deep rose. He’s run out of brainpower earlier than usual tonight, and puts his notes away around nineteen, standing and stretching. His feet take him to the other side of the parlor automatically, and he pushes the curtain aside, fully expecting that the room across the way will be empty and dark.

It isn’t. Not only is the little room alight with more candles than usual, but the pink-haired man appears to be entertaining, another young man sitting with him on the bed. The second man is smaller and slighter, his eyes catlike and dancing over a respirator even cheaper and less effective than the other’s, and they have a bottle between them, wine, it looks like. Sehun’s breath halts as the pink-haired man lifts the bottom of his mask; he catches view of a rounded jawline and red, curved lips before those lips purse around the bottle, and the man tilts his head back to pour the alcohol down his throat.

It’s impossible to miss how the man’s friend watches him drink, how they lay so comfortably close and how their hands wander so easily. They appear to be only talking, simply enjoying each other’s company, but the alcohol makes them both loose and lazy and touchy. The pink-haired man turns his body more fully towards the window, and Sehun can see that his usual vest is nowhere to be seen and his shirt is unbuttoned, making it too easy for his friend to slide a hand up his torso. The way the stranger’s fingers raise and dip over muscled ridges is clearly apparent through the now-clean window. Those fingers slide back down and gently cup a thickly bulging cock, outlined in worn, supple leather, and Sehun softly moans aloud, arousal warring with jealousy.

It’s odd, but neither of them seem to be intent on moving further than where they are. Other than light touches, skin sliding softly against skin, they don’t attempt anything truly sexual, don’t chase after release though they are clearly both achingly hard. And they don’t kiss, though their bodies angle close like they are thinking about it; the respirators make anything involving the mouth difficult indeed.

The way they are touching, Sehun expects that the man is planning to stay all night, but he finds he’s wrong less than half a bell later, when the other man stands, grabs a bag from the desk, waves his goodbyes and leaves. The pink-haired man lets him go with a friendly wave of his own, and slumps carelessly back on the bed, his shoulder pressed to the window and his legs folded under him. Sehun’s breath is held again - the man seems so much closer now that the window is clean, and the candlelight is bright enough for him to see more than a shadow, more than a shape. 

He can see clearly the moment when the man remembers his own stiff cock, sees him look down and consider it for a moment. Sees the golden light gleam off of blunt fingernails as he palms himself through his straining trousers, sees his Adam’s apple bob and his eyelashes flutter. And he wishes, more than _anything_ right now, that he could see those red lips parted around a gasp. That mask is utterly _maddening_.

When the man rises up to stand on his knees on the bed, though, Sehun loses the control he’s fought hard to maintain. The man’s unbuttoned shirt falls off of one shoulder, his untied cravat hanging loosely around his neck, and his fingers work steadily at the closures of his pants, unbuckling and untying and unlacing until he can shove them down and his cock springs free. He slowly wraps fingers around his cock, and as if controlled by strings, Sehun’s hand trails down to trace out his own.

With a forearm braced against the window, the pink-haired man starts to rock into his own fist. He takes his time, drawing it out, slow and even, and as is becoming habit, Sehun finds himself falling into a meditative, almost dreamlike state, watching him. The man across the way seems both totally unreal _and_ the only thing in the world that matters. He’s barely aware that he’s touching himself, the soft, slow build of his own pleasure but a subtle counterpoint to the visual feast across the alley.

Sehun is so enraptured with the twist of his wrist, the play of his fingers, with cataloging the angles and the pressures and the spots he seems to like the most, that it’s a long time before he glances up...and sees that he is being watched.

He freezes, caught. Narrowed, dark eyes are locked onto him across the alley, half-shaded by raggedly cut pink strands, but, unmistakably, Sehun has been seen. It sends a terrible, sharp-edged thrill through him. It’s utterly _mortifying_ , but his cock jumps against his hand anyway, pulsing thicker with each rapid heartbeat, because the man sees him, _he sees him_ , and he’s _not stopping_.

And Sehun is nothing if not bold, so he steels himself, and he pushes the curtain further aside, exposing the length of his body to the view of the street. The man’s eyes slide down his body, as Sehun had hoped they would. He wraps his hand around his own cock and squeezes, showing him that he is hard, showing off his shape and size, watching in delight as the man across the alley grips his own tighter in response. The hand that’s up against the window clenches into a tight fist, and dark eyes narrow further, as if in challenge. Strong thighs and a strong stomach set to work, pumping forward on the smooth, even beat of a machine, and Sehun doesn’t think he’s ever going to be able to walk through the factory again without hearing sex in the rhythm of the production lines.

And now that he’s been seen, Sehun should probably at least attempt to make a good show of it, but honestly he’s struck dumb by the view. So he just...watches. With one hand on the curtain, and one hand on his cock, he stands still and watches as the man across the way brings himself closer and closer to orgasm, the lines of his body drawing tighter and the visible slice of his expression twisting up with need. His eyes never move from Sehun’s, though, and when he comes, Sehun nearly misses it, because he’s unable to break his gaze.

White streaks paint the inside of the freshly-cleaned glass. Sehun’s breath heaves, his hands constricting. There’s a moment of stillness between them.

The man across the alley sneers with his eyes and yanks the curtain shut, leaving Sehun staring at come dripping down the glass and wondering what just happened.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, Sehun opens the curtains partway, draws the shades. It puts a slice of his parlor in full view of the tenements and that’s what he wants. The ugly, cheap curtain of the window across the way is still shut, but Sehun knows curiosity can overtake anyone.

Jongin arrives exactly on time, looking better-rested and more cheerful than he has yet in the time Sehun has known him. Sehun explains that he will take the twelfth and the twenty-fourth of each month off as the factory workers do, and in the same breath orders him to find out - _quietly_ \- who lives in the tenement directly across the alley. He passes his servant some extra coin, for his time and in case he needs to bribe someone, and Jongin seems to understand that this is a step forward in their relationship, that Sehun is _trusting_ him with this. He squares his shoulders and bows his head and murmurs his assurances that it will be done, and then he is gone.

Sehun eats his breakfast in full view of the windows. He reviews his schedule for the coming work cycle in full view of the windows. He stretches out his long body, stiff from writing all day previously, and changes into his workday clothes...in full view of the windows. 

The curtains across the way never twitch, but Sehun knows his workers’ schedules well enough to know the pink-haired man is there, eating and preparing himself for his day just as Sehun is. He feels phantom eyes heavy on his skin as he moves, and even if it’s just his imagination, it has him half-swollen and heavy in his trousers.

But he doesn’t close the curtain. 

Jongin returns as Sehun is shrugging into his morning coat. He silently hands Sehun a sealed letter. It is unaddressed, and Sehun raises an eyebrow, wondering if Jongin has somehow gotten the information he requested _already_. But when he flips the letter over and sees the seal in emerald wax, he lets out a huff of breath.

“When did this arrive?” he asks absently as he pries the missive open.

“This morning, sir,” Jongin says, turning to his task of gathering the dishes.

The letter is a single line in flowing, familiar green ink. 

_Order supper for two tonight. ~K.S._

That pompous bastard. Sehun smiles and folds the letter closed again. “Jongin, I am expecting a guest for dinner tonight. Please show him to my rooms if he arrives before I return, and inform the cook that I will require an extra setting with supper.”

 

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

 

Sehun is somewhat distracted that day when they are overseeing the floor, looking for pink hair. He spots flashes, but never manages to catch the man’s eye; it leaves him vaguely annoyed all day long and when the coach drops him at the door to the mansion, he’s already halfway out of his cravat before he even finishes climbing the stairs.

To his surprise, Jongin falls into step beside him in the entrance hall. “Your guest has arrived,” he murmurs. “I showed him to your rooms, as requested.”

There is something in Jongin’s tone, something...thick, that makes Sehun glance at him as he unbuckles his respirator and pulls it gratefully from his face. “Jongin,” he says, amused, “did Kyungsoo say something to you?”

He gets a startled blink.

Sehun gestures at his manservant’s cheek, where a deep flush has built under tawny skin. “You’re blushing,” he explains.

“Oh.” Jongin licks his lips nervously. “He, um. He merely made a comment or two on my...appearance. Sir.”

Which means he was flirting outrageously. Sehun holds back a sigh - Kyungsoo always did like to tease the help, especially the young and comely ones. Now that he thinks about it, Jongin is just Kyungsoo’s type, tall and dark and gracefully quiet. “I apologize for that,” he says. “Do not think too much of it. Trust me when I say, he’s like that with everyone.”

Jongin nods, and out of sheer curiosity Sehun tries to determine whether that is relief or disappointment on his face. The expression is too subdued to tell, unfortunately.

“And the errand I requested?” he asks, lowering his voice.

Jongin’s head raises, his shoulders squaring again, as he does whenever Sehun asks something of him. “I expect an answer tonight,” he murmurs.

Good man. Sehun makes a mental note to find out what he’s being paid and raise it. Jongin is fast becoming his greatest asset; such dependability must be well-rewarded or it will fade.

He dismisses Jongin at his door and enters his rooms alone, hanging his respirator on its hook and shrugging out of his coat. “I have returned, my darling,” he calls out, lilting humor in his voice.

Kyungsoo appears in the doorway to his office, in a perfectly tailored, perfectly stylish suit of gray and green, a touch of amber silk at his throat. “I have pined for you in your absence, my love,” he murmurs, a smile twitching at the corners of his richly curved lips. “I wither away with each moment your lips are not on mine. Take me, and make me once more complete.” He swoons dramatically, the back of his hand held delicately to his forehead, and Sehun bursts out laughing.

“Ah, you’re such an ass,” he accuses, throwing his coat at Kyungsoo’s head. Kyungsoo catches it, that threatening smile breaking out across his lips. “Why were you tormenting my servant? I can’t have you driving him away, he’s too useful.”

“Please. If anything, he would stay in your service for the merest opportunity to catch a glimpse of me.” Kyungsoo tosses the coat back to Sehun, and Sehun hangs it on a hook for Jongin to later put away. “He’s _gorgeous_ , though. Totally wasted on you. How much are you paying him? I’ll pay him more.”

“Never. He’s mine,” Sehun shoots back. He gestures at the couch, and Kyungsoo flops onto it gracefully, his slim, slight form a study in casual artistry. “Not that I don’t always enjoy your company, Soo,” Sehun says, “but what brings you here?”

He happens to glance over the back of the couch and out the window, and his breath catches. 

The curtain across the way is partially open.

“No particular reason,” Kyungsoo says airily. “You’ve been down here for a week now, I just wanted to be sure you hadn’t gotten yourself killed yet.” Sehun snorts, and Kyungsoo smiles. “And, well...I have something for you.” He gestures at a side table, and Sehun notices for the first time a file sitting there. He reaches over with a long arm and scoops it up.

“The economic effects of Beggar’s Lung on factory production?” he reads aloud. “Oh, is this what you’ve been working on?” Kyungsoo is a year older than Sehun, and has since graduation been working with his own family’s properties in personnel management. He’s always up to his elbows in one research project or another.

“It is,” Kyungsoo says. The flirtatious humor in his tone is fading, replaced with the quiet seriousness that Sehun knows is much truer to his core self. “It’s less of an issue in the restaurant business, but factories are notorious for it. My research points at an even broader scope than I was expecting, and considering the position you are about to assume…”

“You thought I would be interested,” Sehun finishes for him. “And you’re right. As always.” He flips open the file and skims it.

Kyungsoo is nothing if not direct, and the very first page is a simple, to-the-point summary of what his research has found. Sehun’s eyes get caught on one line.

_Beggar’s Lung kills 15% of factory workers annually._

“Fifteen percent,” Sehun breathes. He glances back up at Kyungsoo in shock. “That’s...that’s _far_ too high. Are you certain?”

“Numbers don’t lie, Hun,” Kyungsoo murmurs. He stands, pacing across the room with his hands clasped behind his back, a mannerism Sehun knows well. He’s agitated, fired up. Sehun swallows down a lump and looks back at the results in his hands.

When Kyungsoo gets fired up, he moves mountains to get his way.

“I saw it in our kitchens, too,” Kyungsoo is saying. “Buildings that should have been well-sealed, the air inside conditioned, but they simply weren’t. I asked why not, and was _laughed_ at. Told that I would learn, and that the workers weren’t worth the expense.” Sehun’s stomach jolts oddly, and Kyungsoo’s handsome face twists into a sneer. “At least in a restaurant, the serving floor is sealed for the customers, so there’s less exposure. But in a factory?” He whips around, hard gaze pinning Sehun to his chair. “You are aware that when you take over this business, all of those lives will be in your hands, yes?” he snaps. 

Sehun wants to snap back, wants to get defensive, but he understands why Kyungsoo is so adamant. “I’m aware,” he murmurs. And he was aware before, truly, but this brings it home to him, sinks the knowledge into his bones. He glances out the window, across the way, and thinks about the pink-haired man lifting his mask and exposing himself to the smog just to take a drink of wine. “The tenements aren’t sealed, either.”

Kyungsoo cocks an eyebrow. “Are you going to do something about it?”

Sehun meets his gaze. “Yes,” he says, resolutely. “First thing when I take control.”

The sharpness fades from Kyungsoo’s narrow shoulders. “Good,” he says. “I wasn’t certain if...Good.”

Not certain of what? Not certain if...if the traditional ideas of the executive class had rotted his brain? 

Not certain if Sehun would _care_ if his workers became ill and died?

Sehun purses his lips, not liking that Kyungsoo had a single doubt...but he does understand why he might. “You were in my office,” he points out. “Did you not see my board?”

That makes the smile return to Kyungsoo’s face. “I did. You have a lot of ideas. Some more... _grandiose_ than others.”

Sehun shrugs. “Think large, and scale back if you must. That is what we were taught, yes?” It’s the attitude that has brought their country to the forefront of technology, made them rush ahead in leaps and bounds over the rest of the world, still riding horses and weaving cloth on hand-powered looms and praying to ancient gods.

“I wish you luck with it,” Kyungsoo says. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

“Of course. Can I keep this?” Sehun holds up the file. Kyungsoo nods. “This is incredible work, Soo. You wouldn’t happen to be interested in working for me, would you?” He waves the file in Kyungsoo’s direction. “It would be beneficial to have someone like-minded in my management staff, and the current personnel manager is an absolute _bat_.”

That makes Kyungsoo laugh outright. “I don’t think my father would be pleased to see me working anywhere but in the family business,” he murmurs, “but I’ll think about it.” He arches an eyebrow. “It might depend on the pay. And the... _other_ perks.”

“Hmmm,” Sehun teases, reaching out to snag Kyungsoo’s wrist and pull him closer. His smile growing, Kyungsoo lets him, climbing easily into Sehun’s lap. “I thought we decided that was a bad idea years ago?”

“It _is_ a bad idea,” Kyungsoo murmurs, his smooth voice throaty and suggestive. “It’s a _terrible_ idea. But it’s an enticing one, all the same.” He noses along Sehun’s jawline, his hands braced on Sehun’s chest, and Sehun folds his arms around his familiarly compact form. It’s been too long. “We’ve both been busy this year, Sehun,” he breathes. “I’ve missed you.”

Sehun snorts. “You’ve missed my cock, you mean.”

A pale hand presses to his chest in mock-hurt. “Oh, you wound me,” Kyungsoo teases. “As if your cock is the thing I desire most.” His smile widens. “It’s your ass, of course.”

Laughter bubbles out of Sehun’s throat, bright and loud, and it takes with it another tangle of the knot of stress in his chest. “Oh, of course, I should have known better. You know, someone had the gall to accuse me of being a rump-humper on my first day. A factory worker.” 

Kyungsoo stares. “Seriously? Who had the balls to do that?”

“I don’t know, though I have my suspicions. If my uncle hadn’t been there, I would have tempted to set the record straight as to which end of the humping I generally end up.” He waggles his brows, and Kyungsoo laughs brightly, his beautiful lips stretched around a dazzling smile.

Sehun can’t help it - he leans down and presses a soft kiss to Kyungsoo’s lips, firm and plush and well-known to him. “I’ve missed you too,” he murmurs against them. “Life is very dull without my best friend.”

Something flashes behind Kyungsoo’s dark eyes, something gone too quickly for Sehun to pinpoint. Then they soften, turn fond. “I’ll consider your offer seriously,” he says. “Perhaps together we could do good things.”

There is a knock at the door at that moment, and Kyungsoo tilts his head questioningly. Sehun looks up at the clock. “That will be supper,” he murmurs. He pushes at Kyungsoo’s hips, urging him to get off, but Kyungsoo only smiles and settles down more comfortably, curled against Sehun’s chest with his dark eyes on the door.

Ah, so _this_ is the game tonight. Sehun gives up trying to force him off and just calls for Jongin to enter.

His servant comes in with a more heavily-laden tray than usual, supper for two. He glances up to see where to set the food and halts in his tracks, red growing up his face as he takes in their intimate position. Sehun feels rather than hears Kyungsoo’s low purr of approval, a soft hum deep in his chest as his eyes slide down Jongin’s slim form, and takes it upon himself to pinch Kyungsoo’s butt, back where Jongin can’t see. “Behave,” he admonishes, all but soundlessly. Kyungsoo responds with a sharp look and a sharper smile and Sehun can see this is a lost cause.

So instead, he watches Jongin carefully as his servant hesitantly brings the cart across the room and begins setting the dishes out. Watches the way he glances at them from under his lashes, watches the tells in his body language. If Jongin does not welcome Kyungsoo’s flirting, he will put a stop to it, best friend or no.

Jongin produces a plain envelope and slides it under Sehun’s plate, looking up to catch his master’s eye. Sehun realizes what it must be and smiles, nodding to show he understands.

“You know, Sehun,” Kyungsoo murmurs, his voice like liquid silk and his eyes still locked onto Jongin. “I might be more inclined to take you up on your offer if I was guaranteed a manservant like _this_.” Jongin looks up in surprise, and Kyungsoo smiles at him, promises of pleasure in the curve of his lips.

“Nice try, Soo,” Sehun murmurs. “Jongin is too valuable to me.”

That makes Jongin smile, dropping his eyes. “You’re too kind, sir,” he murmurs.

“What is he paying you?” Kyungsoo asks. “I’ll double it.”

“Kyungsoo!” Sehun smacks his ass reproachfully. Kyungsoo jumps and turns, giving him an exaggeratedly sexual pout. Torn between laughing at him and wanting to kiss him, Sehun soothes the sting of his smack with his hand. “I’m doubling your salary, Jongin.”

Soo shoots Jongin an eyebrow. “I’ll still pay you more.”

“You absolute _brat_ , hush.”

Jongin chuckles softly under his breath, and Sehun relaxes a little. “If you please, sir, I’m quite happy with my station.” His eyes raise. “Sehun is a good master.”

Sehun swallows, returning his servant’s smile. It’s a reassuring thing to hear.

“I promise you, I would also be a good master,” Kyungsoo says, his tone lighter. “Look, we even have similar tastes.” He reaches out and brushes fingers against the silken pocket square tucked into Jongin’s breast pocket. It’s the very same amber as Kyungsoo’s necktie.

Both of them stop for a moment, Kyungsoo’s fingers on Jongin’s chest and Jongin’s gaze helplessly ensnared. Sehun studies them both and decides he is staying out of this one. The tension between the two is thick enough to cut, and frankly, he thinks they might be well-suited, certainly more so than Sehun and Kyungsoo ever were.

Kyungsoo breaks the spell first. “Ah, well,” he says, withdrawing his hand. “If I come to work for the factory, the point may be moot. I will be...around.”

Jongin pulls away, but he bows, much deeper than the informal head-nods he’s adopted with Sehun. “I look forward to seeing you again, sir,” he says, and is that a hint of _innuendo_ Sehun hears? 

Kyungsoo certainly hears it, because he hums in approval, settling back again into Sehun’s arms. “Until next time, Jongin,” he murmurs. 

The door closes behind Jongin, and Kyungsoo actually _wriggles_ in Sehun’s lap. “Oh, he is just _darling_ ,” he breathes. “I’m in love.”

“You are _terrible_ , that’s what you are,” Sehun huffs. “Get off me and eat your supper.”

“I will not. You’re comfortable.”

“I’m bony, you’ve said so yourself.”

“You’re currently in four layers of wool crepe and silk, I feel no bones.” Kyungsoo shoots a grin over his shoulder and wriggles again. “Except that one.”

Ugh. “Fine. You win,” Sehun grumbles. 

“I always win.” Kyungsoo tugs the table closer and digs into his food. “What’s in the envelope?” he asks, pointing at it.

Sehun reaches around him and plucks the envelope out from under the plate. “Just something I asked him to look into for me.” He tucks the envelope into his waistcoat pocket, glancing as he does so out the window and across the alley.

Oh. There is a light there. A dim one, perhaps a single candle, but he can make out a dark shape on the bed, sitting up. It appears to be turned towards the window.

Watching.

Sehun’s heartbeat spikes in his chest. How long has he been...how much has he seen?

“Oh, so you’ve got him _looking into_ things for you already.” Kyungsoo gives Sehun another look over his shoulder. “You must really like him.”

“A good servant is worth his weight in gold, and you know it,” Sehun murmurs absently, an idea forming in his mind. He slides an arm around Kyungsoo’s slight waist, leaning over him to begin on his own meal. They’re so comfortable with each other that Kyungsoo barely notices the touch, intent on his food and his mind still clearly on Jongin. It’s too easy for Sehun to turn his head in towards Kyungsoo’s neck, to brush his nose up soft skin and into the hairline.

They eat in silence for a few minutes, cuddled comfortably together. But when Sehun’s mostly through his own plate, he gives up waiting, and his hands start to wander, sliding over Kyungsoo’s thighs and cupping his hips warmly.

“Sehun,” Kyungsoo says warningly, without turning from his plate. “A little propriety, please? I’m trying to eat.”

“I’m not stopping you,” Sehun breathes, pressing kisses to the back of Kyungsoo’s neck. He seeks out that perfect little spot behind Kyungsoo’s ear, the one that makes him shiver every time, and this time is no exception. Kyungsoo moans softly and tips his head to the side, letting Sehun have better access.

A small hand clenches into Sehun’s knee. “You are so terrible,” Kyungsoo gasps, but he sets down his plate and turns his body so that he can return the favor, sensual lips trailing across Sehun’s skin where his discarded cravat should be. “What if your manservant hears us?”

Hah. “You would love that, wouldn’t you?” Sehun purrs, sliding his hands over Kyungsoo’s shoulders and down his chest. His waistcoat is silk brocade and makes him feel firmer than he is; Sehun knows very well that underneath it, Kyungsoo’s skin is pristinely soft. “You would just _adore_ it if Jongin came back to get the dishes and heard me crying out as you fucked me.”

He raises his eyes as he says it, looking out the window. The form of the pink-haired man is still there, just well-lit enough to be discerned, and he is definitely watching. It sends a terribly forbidden thrill through Sehun’s body.

“Hmm.” Kyungsoo appears to be considering this. “Do you suppose it would traumatize the boy? He seems a bit...uptight.”

“He is a footman,” Sehun points out, amused. “He’s _my_ footman. It is his _job_ to be uptight. I’m sure he’s not such when he’s off-duty.” He nips at Kyungsoo’s skin with gentle teeth, soothing each bite with his tongue. “And I saw you undressing him with your eyes, you minx.”

Kyungsoo laughs, and finally gives up on his dinner, fully turning in Sehun’s lap. “The fact that you _don’t_ only means you are blind,” he shoots back. “He’s stunning. And _you_ are evil, because yes.” He licks a long stripe up Sehun’s neck. “I would _love_ for him to hear you screaming my name.”

With one last glance out the window to make sure the pink-haired man is still watching, Sehun leans down and kisses Kyungsoo, passionate. Kyungsoo pushes back with as much fervor as ever, and Sehun knows him well enough to know it isn’t Sehun that Kyungsoo wants to be kissing.

But that’s alright, because Sehun is imagining it’s someone else in his arms, too.

They’re touching each other, but both of them are with someone else when they undress one another, pressing lips and tongues and teeth to revealed skin. It isn’t Sehun that Kyungsoo sees as they switch places, Kyungsoo naked in the armchair and Sehun crawling up on top of him, but then, it isn’t Kyungsoo’s hand that Sehun imagines is reaching down between them, working him open with the scented oil Sehun had passed to him moments before.

When Sehun sinks onto Kyungsoo’s cock, his bare back is to the window. That’s on purpose, so that Kyungsoo is mostly hidden; all his silent watcher will see is the length and curve of Sehun’s back, the width of his shoulders, the slenderness of his waist and the flare of his ass and the hard cock disappearing into him as Sehun rides it. And Sehun purposely makes it a show, throwing his head back and rolling his hips out sinuously.

He wants the pink-haired man to desire Sehun as badly as Sehun desires him.

There is a knock at the door, and it pulls Sehun from his fantasies. He glances down at Kyungsoo, who gives him a wicked grin, takes Sehun’s hips in both hands and drives sharply up into his body. Sehun’s moan of shocked pleasure is real, but he makes sure his lips form Kyungsoo’s name. Kyungsoo pounds him hard and Sehun tells him breathlessly how good it is, loud enough that someone with their ear to the door might hear.

Kyungsoo comes with a terribly musical moan, and Sehun thinks he hears the edges of Jongin’s name in the sound, but it’s hard to know for sure when Kyungsoo’s hand is bringing him to completion simultaneously. And for his friend’s sake, Sehun cries out Kyungsoo’s name when he comes, but the face he sees in his mind doesn’t have a name.

Not until later, anyway, when Kyungsoo and Sehun are spent and cleaned and once again dressed, and an extraordinarily red-faced and unusually quiet Jongin has come to clear away the dishes, Kyungsoo walking out with him when he goes. That’s when Sehun opens the letter Jongin left, and finds a short dossier, with a name at the top.

Kim Minseok.

 

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

 

Kyungsoo’s research makes a great impression upon Sehun. The next day, Sehun pays even greater attention to the workers on the floor than before, and notes with unease the amount of coughing, the low quality of the worker’s respirators, the older or longer-standing workers who seem too weak, too shaky, for their age. None of the workers are over the age of fifty, and according to Kyungsoo’s research, that is not by coincidence - the vast majority of workers begin in factories as teenagers or young adults, and Beggar’s Lung gets most of them within twenty years, no matter how careful they are about keeping their faces covered.

He draws up a plan that night, and presents it to his uncle in the morning.

In hindsight, perhaps it would have been better for Sehun to wait the ten days or so until he takes over the factory. His uncle all but laughs in his face, wanting to know why Sehun thinks spending that much money is in any way necessary. Workers are in vast supply, he points out; any rabbit on the street would give their right foot to have a position in a factory, to have a steady income and roof over their heads to protect from the acidic rain. Who cares if they lose a few?

Sehun has seen this argument coming, though, and he has numbers, hard data from Kyungsoo’s research and some calculations of his own. It costs more to find, hire, and train a new worker than it does to protect an already-hired one from an untimely death, he points out; and workers who are satisfied with their work surroundings do higher-quality work, are willing to work for less pay. This is but the first step in his vision, he insists, a vision that will elevate the family name and the brand to a new prosperity, a new level of quality, a higher reputation in the community.

His uncle considers him silently through his impassioned speech, and finally, at the end, tells him to do as he likes. After all, the factory will he his own soon; if this ambitious plan fails it will be on his own head.

From that point on, though his uncle is still technically the owner until the end of the month, he backs from control and lets Sehun have the reins, watching silently. It’s a little unnerving, knowing he’s being judged, but Sehun throws himself into it wholeheartedly. The initial costs of sealing the building and installing state-of-the-art purifiers come out of Sehun’s own funds, his investment in the long-term success of the factory and the workers, and for three nights Sehun barely comes home, overseeing the crews in the factory while the workers are gone.

The purifiers are started on the fourth night, after the last worker has left and Sehun is the only one in the factory, steam-powered engines that run massive bellows upon the roof of the building, drawing outside air through layers of filters and pushing it down to the factory floor. They run all night, circulating out the smog that had built up inside, and when Sehun enters the floor the next day, not only does the air test at acceptable breathing levels, but the factory is brighter, and a _lot_ less hot as well, and Sehun watches with amusement as the workers enter the floor, curious and speculative murmuring rising from the crowd to reach Sehun up on the catwalk.

It is with great relish that Sehun calls the workers to gather, that he explains the changes he’s made and hints that there are more to come. He scans the crowd for pink hair as he speaks, and finds it, right in the center near the back of the crowd.

Almond eyes meet his, and Sehun holds them as he takes off his own respirator, breathes in the purified air, and urges his workers to do the same. Hesitantly, they do so, few at first and then more, and more, and as excited chatter starts to rise on the floor, the pink-haired man - Minseok - reaches up and unbuckles his own, and for the first time, Sehun gets a clear look at his face. He’s exactly as stunning as Sehun had imagined, perhaps a few years older than Sehun himself, with sensual features set in a guarded expression.

Sehun smiles, a softer smile meant for Minseok alone. Minseok’s eyes narrow, a shadow of a sneer on his lips, and he looks away. It stings, more than it should, but Sehun brushes it off. Minseok, of course, has no real reason to like Sehun, no real reason to trust him or show him any favor, and unlike much of the executive class, Sehun knows better than to think a worker owes him a favorable attitude simply by virtue of his status.

That’s alright. He’ll make Minseok come around. He has lots of time.

 

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

 

For the bell or so of time between when Sehun gets home and when Jongin brings dinner, Sehun is working out the logistics of the next step in his plan, writing timelines and budgets, reviewing proposals. He keeps working as he eats, finally reaching his conclusions and putting his papers away just as Jongin returns to clean up.

“Sir?” Jongin asks softly as he’s gathering the dishes. “May I...ask you something?”

Sehun quirks an eyebrow at him. “You may ask,” he says. “I might not answer.”

Jongin’s smile is nervous. “How...how did you meet your friend? Kyungsoo?” 

Oho. Sehun hides his own smile. “We met in university,” he says, truthfully. “He was my mentor for one of my first classes, and we became friends. Lovers, too, for a while, but in the end that didn’t work out.” Just in case that is what Jongin is getting at. 

Jongin bites his lip, and will not meet Sehun’s eyes. “Is he...Forgive me, sir, if this is an impertinent question, but...Is he a good man? Do you...do you trust him?”

The absolute seriousness of the question makes the smile drop from Sehun’s face. He studies his manservant until Jongin looks up, fear behind his eyes that he’s gone too far, his question too familiar. 

“I would trust Kyungsoo with my life,” Sehun says, truthfully. “Do not be fooled by his... _frivolous_ demeanor. There is no better man to have at your side.”

Jongin lets out a slow breath. “Thank you, sir,” he says. “That is reassuring.” He bows, and leaves, taking the dishes with him.

Sehun wonders what that was about, but not for long. He locks the door behind him, drags his armchair, the side table, and a lamp across the room, pulls his curtains wide open, and sits in front of the window to read and wait. 

It is perhaps half-past twenty when the curtain across the way opens as well. The motion catches Sehun’s eye, and he looks up, to see Minseok kneeling on the bed, framed perfectly in the window. There’s more light than usual in the little room tonight, enough that Sehun can see his features, see that Minseok’s staring right back at him.

Sehun marks his point in the book, closes it, and sets it aside, double-checking as he does that his lamp is far enough forward to illuminate his face. Then he sits back, crosses one long leg delicately over the other, and arches an eyebrow at his neighbor.

It wins him a surprised look. Sehun had framed himself in his window in hopes of catching Minseok’s curiosity, and it seems to have worked; with luck the other man will be off balance enough that Sehun can keep the upper hand in this odd little game they’ve been playing.

Sehun reaches up and starts slowly, delicately undoing his cravat. He tugs the knot open and gently pulls the silk free, rolling his head sensuously to the side as it slides past, such that the tendons in his neck stretch and stand out under his skin. He tips his head back down to meet Minseok’s eyes, drops the silk over the arm of his chair, brings his hands up to the first closure of his brocade waistcoat, and stops.

There is a breathless moment of anticipation, and then Minseok’s eyes dart from Sehun’s paused fingers to his face and back again. Sehun gives him what he hopes is a challenging look, and sees when Minseok figures out what Sehun is getting at, what the game is tonight. Sehun can’t see his expression, but something in his eyes changes, and Minseok reaches up and yanks off his own neck kerchief.

Perfect. Sehun smiles triumphantly, and rewards Minseok for playing along by undoing the frog closures of his waistcoat. He uncrosses his legs and plants both bare feet on the floor, leaning forward enough to slip the waistcoat off his shoulders and pull it out behind him. He drops it on the floor and leans back, his hands going to the collar of his shirt before he stops still.

Minseok begins to work on his own vest. Where Sehun’s waistcoat was delicately cut, delicate crafted; Minseok’s vest is rough and sturdy, deep brown leather worn soft in places, overlapping fronts held with a line of brass buckles which Minseok tugs open with sharp, strong motions. He leans back away from the window to pull the vest off his shoulders, tosses it behind him, and leans forward again, one forearm braced against the glass of the window. His shirt is cheap undyed linen with little decoration, and the candlelight glows through it, outlining the strong body underneath. His free hand mirrors Sehun’s, stopping at the collar of his shirt, and he arches his own eyebrow, as if to say, _your turn_.

His heartbeat racing, Sehun begins working on the silver filigree buttons of his fine, deep red cambric shirt. He’s delicate with them, pulling them open slowly, revealing in stages the hollow of his throat, his sharp collarbones, the shadow between the muscles of his chest. Minseok’s eyes are heavy on each bit of skin revealed, and by the time Sehun has gotten down to his thin, flat stomach, he’s hard and twitching in his tight trousers, hard enough that he knows Minseok might see. He pulls the tails of his shirt out of his belt, and as the cambric falls open, can’t resist running one hand over his swelling cock, just to watch Minseok’s eyes follow the motion hungrily. Sehun carefully undoes his cuffs, one at a time, and then pulls the shirt off with much more sinuous of a twist to his shoulders than is strictly necessary. He drops it and sits back carelessly in the chair, with one foot pulled up onto the seat to put his body at a carefully artistic angle, to display his long legs and the bulge between them. His hands drop to his belt, and stop.

Minseok waits for a long beat, black eyes roving over Sehun’s body, before he finally begins on his own shirt. He takes much less time than Sehun did, uses less artistic finesse, but there is something quite compelling in his straightforward movements, not an action wasted. And the body that is revealed is utterly gorgeous. Not as long and thin as Sehun’s, not as pristine; he is muscular and a bit scarred in places, strong and hardy. His hands are smaller than Sehun’s, but they are square and masculine and look very capable, curling into the plain white fabric as he pulls his shirt off and discards it. 

Then he presses one hand to his throat and slides it down his torso, arching sensuously up into his own touch, and, oh, _oh_ , Sehun was wrong, Minseok has _plenty_ of artistic finesse. He traces out his body, slides down to grab his cock through his pants and squeeze it hard, and Sehun’s mouth drops open, a moan escaping him at the sheer sexuality of the display. 

Then Minseok stills, with his hand _still_ wrapped around his cock and his eyes challenging over his mask, and Sehun feels like the ante has been upped.

His belt is next, carved and polished leather unbuckled and slid from his beltloops to join the growing pile of expensive garments on the floor. This time, as Minseok does the same, Sehun makes no pretense about rubbing at his cock; he watches the much cheaper plain leather belt come undone and lazily strokes himself to full hardness. It doesn’t take much, honestly; he’s already breathless and close to giddy with lust. 

Sehun hopes that Minseok might take the cue from him, but when the belt is gone and Minseok comes to a halt again, he doesn’t stroke himself the way Sehun did. He just watches, as Sehun unbuttons his fly and rolls his hips up to work his tight trousers off his slim thighs. Sehun was going to draw this out, but he finds himself too impatient, and hooks his underclothes with his trousers so he’s bared all at once. His cock springs free, long and red and nearing painful levels of hard.

He’s breathless for no good reason as he settles back in the chair, delighted to see that almost the moment he is naked, Minseok is hurrying to join him, the rough leather lacing over his straining cock coming undone with impressive alacrity. Sehun reaches over to the side table without taking his eyes from the incredible view, and fumbles in the drawer for the pot of scented oil solids hidden there after Kyungsoo left. He has the lid off by the time Minseok looks up, now fully naked and with a beautiful, solid erection rising from between strong thighs.

Slinging a leg over the arm of the chair, Sehun dips two fingers in the pot and sets it aside. He watches excitedly as Minseok’s eyes widen, finally caught completely by surprise by Sehun ignoring his cock and pressing his fingers inside himself, his body held open by the chair for Minseok’s viewing pleasure.

And despite how much he glares during the day, it’s very clear that Minseok _does_ take pleasure in watching, his eyes locked onto the place where Sehun’s fingers are disappearing and his hips starting to instinctively rock, even though he looks determined not to touch himself. Sehun can see in the glazed look in his eyes and the rhythm of his body that Minseok is imagining fucking him. But that’s good, that’s _perfect_ , because Sehun is imagining it too. He’s imagining getting pinned down, a rough voice in his ear, that gorgeous thick cock pistoning into him with a strong, steady beat.

Minseok finally gives in when Sehun’s up to three fingers and working himself over with rougher, faster strokes, his hand wrapping around his cock and stroking. Sehun licks and bites at his lips, wondering what it would be like to suck on Minseok’s cock, if Minseok would fuck his mouth silently, or if he would pull his hair and whisper dirty things to him. In reality, Minseok’s eyes lock on to Sehun’s mouth and watch him worry at his lips, and Sehun wonders if Minseok is biting his own under that mask, if he’s panting, if he’s moaning. Now that he knows what Minseok looks like, his imagination runs wild.

When Sehun starts to fist his desperate cock with his other hand, Minseok’s head falls back, his hand stilling and his hips speeding such that he’s now fucking his own fist. He’s terribly close to completion, Sehun can see it, and watches avidly as he gets closer and closer, his cock swelling and his balls tightening. Minseok grabs his own linen neck kerchief and balls it over his cock just before he comes, catching his release and depriving Sehun of the glory of watching his come spurt.

But Minseok doubles over with the force of his orgasm, and there, in the candlelight, Sehun sees something he hadn’t before. Black ink over Minseok’s shoulders, down his spine; a massive and complex tattoo that looks like it might cover his entire back.

Sehun gasps and comes all over himself. 

When he can pry his eyes open again, he sees that Minseok is leaning again on the window, his chest heaving with his breath and his eyes boring into Sehun, drinking him in hungrily. He looks up, meeting Sehun’s gaze, and Sehun smiles, lazy and satisfied.

If Minseok smiles back, Sehun can’t tell. But he isn’t so abrupt about closing the curtain and leaving Sehun alone, this time.

 

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

 

The next morning, Sehun has another side-errand for Jongin - a short, to-the-point letter for the man in the tenement directly across from his window. He makes certain to tip Jongin well for his time, knowing he is buying his manservant’s silence; Jongin regards him and the letter curiously but takes the money and vows to keep his mouth shut. Sehun tells him also that he will be out all day, likely gone before Jongin comes back to get the dishes, and will Jongin see to it that his auto coach is prepared, please?

By the time Sehun eats, dresses, and goes out to the garage, his auto is prepped and waiting. He smiles to himself once more at Jongin’s efficiency, pulls on the engine starter lever, and drives out to meet with the building sealing foreman to go over the second part of his plan. As predicted, he is gone for most of the day, only returning to the factory as the shift is coming to an end, to look over the workers and the floor.

No longer having to cover their faces seems to lift the workers’ spirits. Chatter and gossip is louder than usual, and when the final whistle blows, the workers take more time than normal to gather themselves and line up to clock out. They linger in groups, talking and sometimes even laughing, hesitant to leave the factory, now much safer and more comfortable than the outside or even their own homes. It could become a nuisance, so many workers milling aimlessly about, but Sehun knows the after-shift lingering will only last until the second part of his plan is complete, and then they’ll be rushing to leave at the whistle once more.

As always, Sehun’s eyes wander until he finds pink hair. Minseok has his back to Sehun at this moment, standing and talking with a small knot of men and women. His hips are cocked to the side, his weight resting on one leg, a small but lovely butt accented by the amber handkerchief sticking out of his back pocket. Sehun’s eyes rove over Minseok’s broad shoulders, the strong v-shape of his back, and wonders about the tattoo he’d seen. 

If he is very, very lucky, maybe tonight he will be able to get a closer look. Maybe tonight, he will hear Minseok’s voice, be able to touch him.

The thought puts a spring in his step as he returns to the mansion, working through plans and plots in his mind as usual. He’s so distracted he almost doesn’t see the letter set out carefully on his side table, next to his armchair.

Eager, he pulls open the plain seal and unfolds it. But all it says, in crisp, clean lettering, is _No, thank you._

Sehun’s good mood abruptly deflates into annoyance, excitement wheezing out of him like a hot air balloon slashed open with a knife. How rude! How extraordinarily obnoxious!

The temptation to throw a fit like a child is strong, but Sehun refrains. He had worded his first letter as a request on purpose - _it would be my pleasure to enjoy your company in my suite after dinner_ \- but he could _order_ Minseok to…

No. No, of course he could not do that. Well, technically, he _could_ , but it would be a terrible abuse of his power and he knows it. He is not that kind of man, and has no intentions of ever _becoming_ that kind of man.

Still, as the initial outrage seeps from his body, Sehun realizes this tells him much about Minseok, perhaps more than Minseok may have meant to reveal. Because in reality, Sehun holds Minseok’s entire livelihood in his hands. Defying him so openly, without any explanation or apology, says much about Minseok’s character, that the strength of his personality is equal to the strength of his body. Sehun is more curious, more _fascinated_ than ever, and vows he _will_ bring the other man around to him, even though it seems that it might take quite a bit of work. 

That’s alright. Sehun has never been afraid to work for what he wants.

 

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

 

It takes six days, with a crew working all day long while the workers are at the factory, for the first of the three tenements to be sealed and purified. Sehun has a notice posted on each individual door, and watches eagerly at the window when Minseok comes home, tears the notice off, and reads it. Shocked eyes snap up, meeting Sehun’s gaze as if Minseok knew he would be watching, and Sehun watches with a breathless grin as Minseok slowly takes off his respirator and breathes freely in his own home for what might be the first time in his life.

Minseok looks quite suspicious of this, his eyes narrowed and his lips thinned to a line. Sehun doesn’t care. It’s a victory, if perhaps a small one.

 

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

 

_It seems a terrible waste of money and time to purify an entire building just so you can look at my face._

The note comes with his breakfast the next morning, and Sehun reads it while Jongin is still in the room and laughs out loud, drawing a questioning look from his manservant. He ignores the look and scribbles down an answer on a fresh parchment sheet, sealing it in ruby wax and stamping it with his family crest ring.

“Here,” he says, handing it over. “This is for Minseok. And, just as a reminder, I had better not see you in my rooms tomorrow.” He eyeballs Jongin. “I was serious about those rest days.”

To his great interest, Jongin actually flushes bright scarlet, dropping his eyes. “I - yes, sir, I know. I actually...I have plans.”

“Oho, I see,” Sehun murmurs teasingly. “Are they plans of a romantic nature?”

Entertainingly, Jongin goes even more red. Sehun laughs again, but takes pity on him and dismisses him without making him answer the question. Truly, it’s none of his business. He really only wants to know if it’s Kyungsoo that Jongin is planning to visit, and he can find that out from Kyungsoo, in any case.

In the meantime, he muses, he is beginning to enjoy this little game between him and Minseok.

_It seems a terrible arrogance to presume your face had anything to do with it._

 

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

 

On the first day of spring, eighteen days after Sehun comes to the factory complex, Sehun’s uncle says his goodbyes and leaves for the Capitol, to take up his new position in the Assembly. The factory is Sehun’s, now, and he wastes no time setting his painstakingly crafted plan into motion.

The last tenement is finished being sealed by the fourth of the month. That alone puts his workers in visibly higher spirits, with visibly more energy, and production begins to rise. By this point, Sehun has received proposals from no less than five designers on possible ways to revamp the lines, and finds, to his surprise, that the proposal that is both most logical and most effective comes not from the expensive, well-educated designers of his own social class, but from one of the factory workers themselves, one Kim Jongdae, a slight young man with features as sharp as his wit. His catlike eyes are familiar, somehow, but Sehun does not realize why until he awards the young man the job and watches him all but run back out to the factory floor to tell his coworkers the news. One of the people standing in his knot of friends is Minseok, and as Jongdae embraces him, Sehun realizes with a start where he’s seen those eyes before - two rest days previous, wandering hands and a bottle of wine.

Minseok glances up and sees Sehun watching, and Sehun realizes he probably thinks Sehun gave Jongdae the job because of him. It’s too late now, and Jongdae’s designs had been by far the closest to Sehun’s vision, so Sehun lets him think what he likes.

That night, Minseok’s curtain is open again, an invitation. Sehun brings out his toybox, this time, and teases Minseok with the contents, making a show of rifling through it and holding up the choices for his silent friend’s inspection. Eventually, Minseok makes his choice with a pointed nod, one of Sehun’s favorites, a pretty curved thing in solid glass, crystal clear with swirls of deep blue. Sehun fucks himself open with it, slowly and deeply, until he falls apart with Minseok’s eyes on his body and Minseok’s name on his lips.

There’s another note for him the next morning.

_The blue one was nice, but I think green would suit better for today._

Sehun blinks at it. Blue obviously refers to the toy he used the night before, but he doesn’t have a green one…

Oh. Wait. Yes, he does. Sehun feels heat flush his cheeks pink, and bites his lip to keep his grin from getting out of hand. He hopes his excitement isn’t too obvious in the shakiness of his handwriting as he scrawls off a response.

_You, sir, are impertinent, uncouth, and downright disgusting._

_I will think of you every time I sit down._

Once Jongin has left, dirty dishes on the cart and the sealed note in his hand, Sehun takes out the toy Minseok was referring to, shaped especially to be worn all day, oils it and gently pushes it inside himself. He stands and tests it, making sure it’s well-seated and hidden under his trousers.

If Minseok thinks simply challenging him to wear a plug for a day will be a hardship, this is clearly only because he has never met Kyungsoo. Sehun is no stranger to this feeling, and though it has him half-swollen in his trousers all day, he manages with minimal fuss. But he keeps his eye on the work floor as he does his tasks, and thinks that it must be much more distracting for Minseok, who for the first time can’t seem to keep his eyes on his work, glancing up at the catwalk every time Sehun appears.

When Sehun finally gets home, he goes straight to the window, and finds Minseok is already waiting, his trousers open and a hand jammed inside. Sehun gives him the best show yet, stripping slowly down until he can display the plug in his body, can pull it out and show Minseok how his stretched-out hole flutters around nothing, and hopes Minseok gets the message. _This could be for you. I want to give myself to you._

He’s sated and spent long before dinner, and when Jongin comes to bring it, hands him still another letter, this one a more prettily-worded invitation to come to his suite. Jongin takes it, his face not downcast enough for Sehun to miss his expression.

“Jongin,” he says, attempting to disguise his own exasperated amusement, “I do believe you are laughing at me.”

“Never, sir,” Jongin says demurely. “It is only that...you pursue him with such zeal, sir, yet you don’t make a move to approach him in the factory, nor do you order him to come see you.” He raises his eyes, and the smile on his lips is slight but fond. “It is...unusual.”

Sehun’s eyebrows threaten to arch off his face. “Either you are for more astute than even I gave you credit for, or someone has been talking.”

It is Jongin’s turn to flush. “Your...friend. Minseok. He is a very...passionate man. He has much to say about you, and seems to regard me as a safe recourse to do so.”

Sehun grins. “He bitches, you mean.”

“I think you confuse him, sir.” Jongin bites his lip. “I can only assume that was in part your intent, as you have only ever been excruciatingly direct with me.”

“Trust me,” Sehun says dryly, “I have been just as direct with him. If he is confused, it is only because his preconceived ideas do not match up with his observations.” He pats Jongin’s shoulder. “Give him the missive, please, and if he can pull his head out of his ass he will be returning with you.” He flashes a smile. “And if he asks, you may tell him I said so.”

Jongin is visibly trying not to laugh as he bows and takes his leave.

Sehun eats, and he waits, going over Jongdae’s design sketches and the next phase of his project plan while he does. And right on time, Jongin returns, alone but for a letter.

_I am not game to be trapped, nor am I a jewel to be bought, nor a prize to be won. You may take that invitation and shove it up your behind, sir. You seem to be good at that._

Sehun blinks, his good mood deflating right out of him. He was, in all honesty, expecting a refusal, but that is...harsher than expected.

Jongin seems to pick up on his mood, because he glances Sehun’s way several times as he is cleaning up. Too busy brooding over the anger in Minseok’s response, Sehun only fleetingly notices.


	3. Chapter 3

The bite of the words takes a chunk out of Sehun’s enthusiasm, and he does not open his curtain for three days. He gets quite a lot of work done in that time, but he does not see Minseok, other than the occasional flash of pink hair on the workshop floor.

It’s halfway through the morning on the fourth day, and Sehun is in the owner’s office at the factory, arguing with his accounting director. He could order the man to just fucking withdraw the money, already, but he’s determined to convince him that yes, Jongdae should be paid what his design work is worth, and no, the fact that he already works in the factory does not mean they can just take his design and call it proprietary. He’s trying to show what a good investment this is, how if the safeguards Jongdae has designed prevent only four injuries a year they _pay for themselves_ , but literally all this idiotic man can see is that Jongdae is in the working class.

It’s _infuriating_. Sehun should never have let it become general knowledge that he’d awarded Jongdae the contract; if the name wasn’t involved the accounting director would not have questioned his decision. But here he is, embroiled in an argument with a man twenty years his senior in both age and experience, who should fucking _know better_.

It’s made all the more infuriating by the fact that Sehun has been fielding arguments like this for eight days - since the moment his uncle left for the Capitol. It seems that none of the managers of the factory agree with his outlook. Or they dislike change, or perhaps they just can’t stand that Sehun is younger, smarter, and higher-standing than they are. Whatever the reason, he’s met nothing but resistance, and the temptation to circumvent his managers entirely and just take every task for himself is high.

But despite his dedication and work ethic, there are actually only so many hours in a day, and Sehun can only be in one place at a time. He needs his managers, and he needs them to understand and support his vision, and if he has to fight for that, so be it.

He finally gives up and _orders_ the finance manager to set aside the money for Jongdae’s contract, dismissing him without letting him argue. The housing manager is next into his office, with a vehement complaint that sealing and purifying the tenements is encouraging the workers to gather in groups.

“Why do we care if the workers gather in groups?” Sehun wants to know, because really, he has more _important_ things to think about.

The look he gets is insultingly incredulous. “Because workers who gather incite riots,” the housing manager exclaims. “You can’t let them spend too much time together outside of the factory, they start _talking_ and getting _ideas_.”

Sehun blinks at him. “That is one of the more preposterous things I’ve ever heard,” he says. “What reason would they have to riot? They are housed, and fed, and paid. As long as they are treated well, there would be no need, and despite what you people seem to think, they are _not_ dumb animals, indiscriminately biting the hand that feeds.” The manager looks dumbfounded, staring at Sehun like he’s lost his mind, and Sehun cannot stand this conversation one minute longer. “Get out. Come back to me if you have a _real_ problem.”

Unfortunately, the next manager has a grievance just as idiotic. And the next. And Sehun is in his fifth terribly obnoxious meeting of the day when a cry of alarm and a crash from the floor has him racing out to the catwalk while his personnel manager is still wagging her tongue at him.

It takes a moment of scanning the floor before he sees the issue - one of the lamps being produced on the line has been knocked off, shattered glass and twisted metal all over the floor. Sehun breathes a sigh of relief that it was not something more serious, and opens his mouth to tell the staring workers to go back to their tasks. Before he can, though, the line manager strides up the the worker who made the mistake, screaming in his face.

The manager, an older, extraordinarily severe woman, raises her cane and brings it down over the worker’s back, knocking the man to the floor amidst the shattered glass.

Horrified, Sehun yells for a halt, but swell of commotion on the factory floor drowns him out. So he runs, racing down the stairs and shoving through the workers to get to the scene. He can see the rise and fall of the cane above the press of the crowd, over and over, and by all the names of the holy is she trying to _kill_ the man?!

He gets there as fast as he can, but as he breaks through the final ring, he sees, to his surprise, that Minseok was faster, crouched over the other man and taking the blows across his own broad back. Sehun doesn’t have time to wonder why he’s not fighting back - he just reaches out, snags the cane, and yanks it away from the woman.

“What in the _hells_ do you think you are doing?!” he snarls.

Instantly, all movement stops, shocked silence descending over the crowd. The woman is staring at him like he’s lost his mind - and so is Minseok, closer to Sehun now than he ever has been. But Sehun does not have time to think about that, to think about _him_. He’s more concerned with this insane woman and the poor worker Minseok is protecting.

“Well?” he demands.

“Sir, he’s - this is the fourth lamp he’s broken this quarter! He’s a feeble-minded idiot.”

The illogicality of the statement renders Sehun all but speechless. “You - why - are you seriously under the impression that it’s possible to _beat_ feeble-mindedness out of someone? Because if so, perhaps it’s _you_ who should be taking lashes.” 

Horrified, the woman splutters protests, but Sehun doesn’t want to hear it. He turns to the man on the ground, and to Minseok, both bloodied at the hands and knees from the glass crunching under his boots. “Why have you broken four lamps in one quarter?” he asks, pushing the anger out of his voice and leaving it as calm as he can make it.

The man doesn’t answer him. He’s sobbing silently, tears dripping down his face, and he’s clearly trying to hide it from Sehun. Sehun’s about to push Minseok aside, to crouch down to the man’s level and make him answer, when Minseok breaks the silence.

“He’s sick,” Minseok says. His voice is a sweeter tenor than Sehun had imagined, but the steel in his tone matches his expression. “His hands shake.”

Beggar’s Lung. Sehun wishes he was more surprised; the man is only a few years older than Sehun himself. “Were you aware of this?” he asks the manager.

She sneers. “They’re _all_ sick.”

So she knows, and simply does not care. “After the second accident, he should have been moved off the lamp line and onto the respirator line,” Sehun points out, his tone hard. “Where there _isn’t anything breakable_.”

Silence. They’re all staring at him, like he’s said something totally bizarre. Sehun refrains from rolling his eyes.

“You,” he says, pointing at the manager. “My office, now. You - what’s your name?” That second part is aimed at the man on the ground; when he doesn’t answer, Minseok prods him.

“Yixing, sir,” the man says. His voice is breathy and raspy, choked equally with tears, with sickness, and with fear.

“Yixing, you will transfer to Line Four.” He looks around until he finds Line Four’s manager. “Choose a worker to take Yixing’s place on Line Two. Someone take this man to the infirmary. Everyone else, back to work.” Commotion takes over as people rush to follow his command. Minseok is helping Yixing to his feet, clearly intending to be the one to take him to the infirmary, but Sehun takes his arm, at the inside of his elbow, and ignores the urge to curiously squeeze at the muscles. Now is not the time. “Find someone else, please,” he says, his voice lowered. “I need to speak with you.”

Minseok’s brows twist unhappily, but to Sehun’s surprise, Jongdae appears out of the crowd and tucks himself under Yixing’s other arm. “I’ve got him, Min,” he says. “Go on.”

Sehun flashes Jongdae a grateful smile, and leans enough to the side to murmur in Jongdae’s ear. “Ask the doctor to send the bill to me,” he says, low enough that Minseok cannot hear. “This should not have happened.”

Jongdae nods, and as they leave, Sehun moves to the very edge of the factory floor and indicates that Minseok follow him. The machines have started back up, so Sehun has to lean in to be heard without raising his voice. Minseok looks like he is not quite sure what to make of this, but he does not cringe away.

“How often does that happen?” Sehun asks, very serious. “Is it just her, or is that a habit of all the line managers?”

Clearly, this is not what Minseok was expecting Sehun to say. (Sehun wonders in mild amusement what, precisely, he _was_ expecting.) He stares for a long moment before answering.

“She’s the worst,” he says, “but they all do it. The last month was too quiet; we all suspected your uncle warned the managers to contain themselves until he was gone.” His eyes are hard, challenging; Sehun meets them steadily. “Usually, it’s weekly, or worse.”

That is unfortunate. That is _very_ unfortunate. His mind racing, Sehun mutters, “Tell me truthfully your opinion - if I ordered them to stop, would they stop?”

Thin red lips twist into a grimace of a smile. “No,” Minseok says immediately. “You don’t hear them talking, but we do. They do not respect you at all.”

Sehun nods, his lips pressing into a straight, flat line. “I see. Your insight is appreciated.” He turns on his heel, already lost in possible solutions to this terrible dilemma.

This time, it’s Minseok who takes his arm, hooking his hand inside Sehun’s elbow. Sehun stops, and looks back over his shoulder.

“Why are you asking _me_?” Minseok asks.

Sehun flashes him a tight smile. “Because I knew you would not be afraid to answer honestly.”

Minseok stares at him, clearly trying to decide if he is sincere. Sehun pulls away and lets him deliberate, headed up the stairs to meet with the manager of Line Four.

 

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

 

In the end, it turns out to be a very, very long day indeed.

Line Four’s manager refuses to acknowledge that she has done anything at all wrong. Sehun informs her that she cannot raise a hand in violence against any of the workers, for any reason, ever again, and her incredulous, spiteful response tells Sehun that Minseok was absolutely right in his assessment.

He fires her on the spot, escorting her out of the building himself.

After that, he calls each of his line managers in, individually. He asks them all the same questions, regarding the Line Four manager’s actions, and their opinions thereof. The answers are all different, but they all come down to the same attitude - the workers must be controlled with fear.

By the end of the day, Sehun is out five line managers and seriously considering booting his upper management, as well. And he doesn’t trust his personnel manager anymore, so he starts pulling the files himself, finding the line workers with the most experience, the highest production ratings, the best records.

He realizes, in looking at the files, that the numbers on production were literally only compiled to find and punish the _lowest_ ranking individuals, and nothing has _ever_ been done to reward the high performers. The terrible management of this damn factory runs a lot deeper than Sehun ever realized, and he sees now that he has his work cut out for him in more than just how the floor lines are arranged.

In the end, he comes up with nine files, possible candidates for new line managers. And as the final whistle blows, Sehun stands at the catwalk, and watches as the floor workers are lining up to leave, and catches Minseok’s eye.

He beckons. Minseok’s eyebrow raises, but Sehun makes it clear with his expression that this is not a request.

Minseok climbs the stairs and enters his office with shoulders tensed against an attack. Sehun ignores his unnecessary dramatics and leans on his desk, spreading out the files in front of Minseok.

“Tell me about these nine people,” he says.

Minseok eyes him. “What do you want to know?”

“Whether or not they can manage a line.”

Shock looks rather cute on Minseok’s sensual features. “What about the _current_ line managers?”

Sehun keeps his face expressionless. “All positions are currently open.” Minseok’s jaw drops, and Sehun raises an eyebrow. “I _could_ hire externally, but I think it would be better for everyone if I promoted from within, don’t you agree? We need people who already know the lines.”

“You are totally fucking insane,” Minseok says, but there’s a note in his voice that might, _possibly_ , be admiration.

“The fact that good management strategy looks like insanity to you is telling,” Sehun shoots back. “Your opinion, please.”

And it takes a few minutes for Sehun to get him to loosen up, to show him that he means it, he’s not kidding, there is no ulterior motive and Sehun really does want his totally, _brutally_ honest opinion, but once he does, his insight is invaluable. Minseok can tell him which of these candidates are cruel, and which are kind; which are meticulous and which are careless; which are good on the lines but bad with people, and, ultimately, which would be the best fit.

He gets to the last file - his own - and looks up with shutters closed once more behind his eyes. “So this _is_ a joke,” he accuses.

“No,” Sehun assures him. “You also met my criteria.” He can see the question on Minseok’s lips, and so he answers it. “You have been with the company for over five years. You are in the top percentile of producers, in both quantity and quality. And you’ve worked on four of the five lines. Your name deserves to be in the pool as much as the others.”

Minseok’s expression is unreadable. “And it has nothing to do with you moaning my name when you get off?”

Fuck. Just the words, even in such a flat tone, have Sehun starting to swell in his trousers. He was doing so _well_ , too. He hasn’t swooned over Minseok’s nearness _once_. “No. It does not.”

Dark eyes meet his own frankly and openly. “I am the best candidate for Line Three.”

Sehun raises an eyebrow, surprised. “Explain your reasoning.”

“I’ve worked it longer than any of the other candidates, in every position on the line at one point or another. Frankly, I am _already_ managing the line - the previous manager was incompetent.” Sehun lets a smile quirk at his mouth, because he’d come to that conclusion himself only a few hours ago. “The workers will listen to me.”

“That’s very well,” Sehun murmurs, “but will _you_ listen to _me_?”

The challenge in Minseok’s eyes is unmistakable. “Prove to me that you’re worth listening to,” he says. “Win my respect.”

Sehun’s smile widens. “Fair enough,” he acquiesces. “I’ll consider this your interview. You’ll begin in the morning as the manager of Line Three, and until I can fill the other four positions, you will effectively be managing the entire floor. Will that be a problem?”

Minseok searches his eyes. “For a day or so, no. But it is too much for one person to do for long, no matter who they are.”

That is the honest truth, and Sehun knows he’s made the right choice. “I will fill the other four positions by the end of the day,” he assures Minseok. “In the meantime, do not hesitate to come to me if you need assistance, or to invoke my name if your authority is questioned.” He sweeps the files into a pile, gathering them for further study that night.   
“You are dismissed.”

Minseok does not move.

When several beats too long have passed, Sehun looks up. “Did you want something else?”

“No,” Minseok says, his voice low and rough. “But I thought _you_ might.”

Something in his tone makes Sehun pause. “Why do you say that?”

An arch of a brow, a sneer. “Isn’t that how this works?” he asks. “You promote me, I _thank_ you?”

His meaning is terribly, excruciatingly clear, but for the sake of it, Sehun plays dumb. “Your thanks is appreciated,” he says lightly. “More than that is unnecessary.”

“Sehun.” His name on Minseok’s lips makes Sehun’s heart thud painfully, despite being addressed informally by a lower-class citizen. “I can’t - I won’t leave here unless I know where we stand. As _men_.”

It implies that Minseok is considering the possibility that they are more than employee and boss. Sehun’s heart leaps but he keeps his face expressionless.

“That is entirely up to you,” he says, and if his tone is a touch too breathy, well, perhaps Minseok will forgive him. “It _must_ be up to you.”

“Why?”

He’s really determined to make Sehun spell this out, it seems. “Because if it is up to me, with my position as it is, I will never be certain it is real.”

Minseok leans on the desk, putting himself closer to Sehun. “But what if it _was_ up to you?” he asks. “If your position and your title did not factor in, what would you want?”

Fine, if he wants specifics. Sehun leans on the desk as well, his face a hand’s-breadth from Minseok’s. “If we were equals,” he murmurs, “and I could choose, I would choose for you to bend me in half and fuck me until I was sobbing your name. I would beg you for the chance to take your cock in my mouth, for the opportunity to ride you.” Minseok is no longer breathing. Sehun flashes him a smile. “Alas, that circumstances must prevent this.”

Minseok can’t tear his eyes from Sehun’s face. “You’re a _dick_ ,” he breathes, and Sehun counts that as a victory.

“So I have been told.” He wants to leave Minseok with that image, to let it sink in, so he changes the subject. “How’s your back?”

“My...Oh.” Sehun wonders how anyone could forget a beating with a hard cane just hours before. “Medic said there was a lot of bruising, probably hurt like hell tomorrow, but nothing broken. I’ve had worse.”

Sehun wonders how much worse, and when, and purses his lips. “I have a very good ointment in my rooms,” he offers, before he realizes how that sounds. He hurries to add, “I could send it over tonight.”

Minseok’s eyes are locked onto his. “The bruising is across my back,” he murmurs. “How would I apply an ointment?”

“Well, of course you could ask a friend,” Sehun says. Minseok’s eyebrow arches, and Sehun takes the chance. “Or you could come back with me, and I will see to it myself.”

Silence. Minseok’s expression is unreadable. “I told you,” he mutters, “I am not to be bought.”

Sehun’s heart drops, but he covers it, and says only, “You also told me to shove the note up my behind,” he points out, “and I tried to indulge your strange fantasy, but the oil made the parchment dissolve.”

Dark eyes go wide, a pretty mouth dropping open in shock. 

Sehun’s lip twitches.

Minseok bursts out laughing. It’s a raw sound, joyful but harsh-edged, totally unlike what Sehun would have expected but perfect anyway. “You are a strange, strange man,” he says, but the usual bite in his words is conspicuously absent. “Fine. I’ll take you up on that offer, as long as you feed me.”

Triumph stretches Sehun’s mouth into a smile. “I would be delighted.”

 

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

 

It is odd, and also oddly exciting, to walk side-by-side with Minseok across the compound, to usher him into the foyer and watch him looking curiously around the mansion as he unbuckles his respirator. Jongin is hovering as usual around the doorway to the kitchen, ready to jump to attention should Sehun require anything of him, and tonight, Sehun does.

“Jongin,” he calls, and his servant comes forward. He doesn’t miss the nod of acknowledgement between Jongin and Minseok, nor does the surprise on Jongin’s face escape him. “Are you currently in contact with Kyungsoo?”

Jongin blinks at him, his cheeks pinking. “I...after a fashion, sir, yes.”

Sehun thought as much. Jongin might _think_ his cravat hid the marks on his neck after the last rest day, but he is mistaken. “Would you please inform him that I would like to see him after supper? Here, in my suite, if possible. Oh, and let the cook know I require dinner for two tonight.” He tilts his head at Minseok, and Jongin looks between them curiously, but he remains silent and unquestioning as he bows and disappears.

Minseok eyes him as they climb the stairs. “Must be nice, being able to order someone around like that,” he mutters.

“It is extraordinarily useful, yes. Jongin is a great help to me.” As they enter the rooms, Sehun hangs up his respirator, strips out of his jacket and loosens his cravat. “Please, make yourself at home.”

He disappears into his bedroom, rummaging in his vanity for the ointment. When he returns, Minseok is no longer in the parlor, and it takes a few glances around before Sehun finds him in the office, staring at his chalkboard.

For some reason, heat crawls up Sehun’s cheeks to his ears, flushes down his neck. He isn’t certain why Minseok seeing his board makes him feel more exposed than Minseok seeing his body, but it does. Perhaps because the board is an expression of his mind, his thoughts.

Swallowing down his sudden apprehension, Sehun leans on the doorframe and lets Minseok look. If he expects to ever get past the other man’s armor, he has to be willing to let him see past his own, first.

Clearly unaware Sehun is there, Minseok peruses the board, glances through the papers on the desk, trails fingers along the journals and files on the bookshelf. When he does happen to spot Sehun, his hand drops quickly to his side, caught.

Sehun smiles at him. “What do you think?”

“Honestly?” Minseok asks guardedly. Sehun nods, because yes, honesty always. “I’m too much in shock at how much thinking _you_ have done to process the actual ideas.”

“I think I should be insulted by that,” Sehun murmurs. “Did you expect I would sweep in here with no plans at all and just flail about pointlessly?”

Minseok meets his eyes. “That’s what management said of you, essentially. That’s what _everyone_ expected.”

It’s not entirely surprising, but it stings. “I suppose they were hopeful that with my uncle gone, they would have free rein to do whatever they pleased. How unfortunate for them.” He holds up the ointment. “My offer to help you stands.”

Slowly, Minseok approaches, crossing the room. Sehun gestures at the parlor, following Minseok out. He notices that Minseok glances at the window, the curtains drawn as they have been for three days.

He meets Sehun’s eyes and starts pulling off his vest. 

It isn’t the same as the one night when they teased one another by undressing; it’s more simple, more unassuming. And yet, Sehun cannot take his eyes from Minseok’s hands as he works open the buckles, can’t make himself look away when the shoulders twist out of the garment and the shirt begins to open as well.

The shirt drops, and Minseok does not stand as if he is self-conscious, but there is a pinkness in his cheek. This close, the scars on his body are more apparent, but he is beautiful. He meets Sehun’s eyes silently, and Sehun gestures as silently to the couch. Sehun sits on the cushion with his knees turned towards the side, and Minseok gingerly perches next to him, reluctantly turning his back.

And there it is - a _massive_ tattoo, a huge twelve-spoked wheel inscribed in letters Sehun cannot read, crisscrossed in lines and intricate designs. It stretches from his nape down to the small of his back, emphasizing his broad shoulders and rippling with the shift of his muscles.

“This is beautiful artwork,” Sehun murmurs, forcing himself to look past the ink to the darkening shadows of the new bruises, still forming. He dips his fingers into the ointment and carefully - reverently - begins to smooth it onto bruised, inked skin. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Minseok jumps at the chill of his first touch, then stiffens as Sehun’s hand slides against him. “That’s not surprising,” he says gruffly. “The artist is...not from around here.”

“Clearly,” Sehun says wryly. “Our homeland is known for a lot of things, but esoteric artwork is not one of them.” He scoops more ointment and spreads it on a bruise lower down, wrapping around Minseok’s lowest ribs to his side. Minseok twitches, his body unconsciously shifting away, and Sehun pauses. “All right?” he asks.

A deep breath, and Minseok visibly forces himself to relax. “Yes, it’s...it’s fine.” 

Taking him at his word, Sehun resumes his ministrations. They are silent for a few moments.

Minseok is the one to break the quiet. “Your hands are not as soft as I would have expected,” he mutters.

Sehun stills. “I’m not certain that’s a compliment.”

A fluid, noncommittal shrug. The muscles under Sehun’s hands bunch and stretch in a fascinating manner. “Merely an observation. The callouses...tickle, a bit.” He turns his head slightly, looking over his shoulder. “What do you even do to _get_ callouses?”

“I write a lot,” Sehun says. “And, contrary to what everyone seems to believe about me, I do _occasionally_ work with my hands. All that fancy schooling was more than just theory, you know.” The bruising is more extensive than Sehun realized, and the ointment is speeding their development, causing stripes of purple to appear before his eyes. Sehun feels anger bubbling up inside him, and decisively shoves it back down. The woman who did this has been dealt with, and it will not happen again.

“Oh really?” Minseok asks, curiosity and skepticism and teasing rolled into his lilting tone. “Was it _very_ fancy schooling?”

Sehun’s lip twitches. “Very very fancy,” he assures Minseok, keeping his tone serious. “I even went across the continent to study for a year.”

Minseok turns and regards him with surprise. “You? Really?”

“Yes, at the Elven University on the eastern coast. It was a culture shock, let me tell you.” Everything on the coast was different - the lush jungle, the thick, moist, clear air, the all-stone architecture. Not to mention the people - all races, all species, all religions. He’d come home with expanded horizons, an appreciation of the technological comforts of home, and a _lot_ of new ideas.

“Huh. I was wondering where you got elven ointment.” Sehun blinks at him, surprised that he knows what it is, and Minseok quirks a smile. “The smell, it’s very distinctive. And very _rare_ , around here.” Studying him curiously, Minseok murmurs, “Most of this city wouldn’t touch elven _anything_ with the sharp end of a glaive.”

Sehun snorts. “This is because we’re a bunch of racist bastards,” he points out. “The one scientific field in which the rest of the world has us beat is medicine. It is idiotic to forgo an advance simply because of who made the advance.” He returns to his ministrations, smoothing ointment carefully along darkening bruises near Minseok’s hipbones. “Of course, the rest of the world sees us the same way, as I found out,” he mutters wryly. “All I had to do was dress in my own clothes or, you know, _speak_ , and I was shunned. You’d think I carried a plague.”

“This country _did_ attempt to take over the world,” Minseok points out dryly.

“Sure, _three hundred years ago_. Half a dozen generations have passed in that time!”

“The coastline is mostly elves, is it not? Elves have long memories.”

Huffing, Sehun argues, “We are a different breed of men entirely than we were three hundred years ago. Perhaps it takes elves several millennia to develop widespread cultural change, but humans cannot wait that long. And it is short-sighted for the _entire rest of the world_ to ignore the progress we have made here because of an old political grievance.”

“Millions of lives were lost!” Minseok exclaims. “Entire _cities_ were wiped off the map! Your ancestors were fighting mostly with machines, but the rest of the world fought with _mortal lives_. To frame it as simply a _political grievance_ is disrespectful and _grossly_ underinformed.”

Sehun stares at him, at the tense anger of his body language and the passion in his eyes. The body under Sehun’s hands is all but vibrating with his emotions, and Sehun automatically smooths his hands over the skin, not to spread ointment this time, but to calm him. “And to let the events of the past stand in the way of progress towards the future is damaging to _everyone_ , no matter the race or nationality,” he says, his tone quieting. “Cultures all over the world would benefit from adopting our technologies, our work ethic. But also, so would we benefit from adopting their principles, their strengths, their...their _faith_. That such a barrier exists now, due to something that happened so long ago, is a terrible tragedy.”

For a long moment, Minseok studies his face, twisted to gaze over his shoulder. Then, quite suddenly, he snakes an arm up behind himself and around Sehun’s neck, and drags him down onto his lips.

The kiss is as bold and passionate and heated as his words, and Sehun moans in delighted surprise and kisses him back fervently. His hands, which had been absently trailing along Minseok’s spine, wind around Minseok’s ribs to tug him closer. The heated firmness of his body is terribly enticing, and Sehun cannot help but to slide his palms over hard rows of muscle, his fingers seeking out and tracing scars as Minseok delves deeper and deeper into his mouth.

Quickly, though, the angle becomes too cumbersome, and Minseok breaks away. He’s already turning, crawling over Sehun’s body with lust dark in his eyes, and as Sehun scoots backwards to accommodate him, he breathlessly jokes, “Discussion of international politics gets you hot. So noted.”

“No,” Minseok growls as he bears Sehun down onto the couch. “You demonstrating that you have a _brain_ in that pretty head of yours gets me hot.” He slots perfectly against Sehun’s body, straddling his hips, a firm, leather-clad ass seated right on Sehun’s cock and the growing bulge of his own brushing Sehun’s stomach. Strong hands wrap around Sehun’s thin wrists and press his arms gently back against the cushions, forcing Sehun’s back to bow. “You can’t be rich, powerful, and gorgeous, _and_ be compassionate and smart too, _that’s not fair_. How am I supposed to keep hating you?”

His teeth dig in to Sehun’s neck, and Sehun gasps and arches his neck into it greedily. Minseok is _touching_ him - it’s a dream come true. “Well,” he points out, “I have been told that I’m a horrible tease. And pompous. I’m very pompous.”

Laughter breathes hot against Sehun’s neck. “Well, yes, that’s true,” Minseok mutters. “You are, indeed, very pompous.” He rolls his hips slightly, grinding down on Sehun’s fast-swelling erection, and Sehun practically _keens_ , overstimulated already. “It would _delight_ me to take you down a few pegs,” Minseok growls.

And Sehun’s on the verge of grovelling as it is, of debasing himself completely just to get that mouth someplace other than his neck, but he can sense Minseok wants a challenge, so he makes himself be a challenge. “You can try,” he whispers hotly, tugging on his arms just to force Minseok to push them down harder. “I have more dignity on my knees than you would on a _throne_.”

“Mmm, is that so?” Minseok’s mouth leaves fiery trails across his skin; he’s barely been touched and already Sehun is desperate for more. “When will dinner arrive?”

Sehun turns his head to look at the pendulum clock on the wall. It takes too long for his eyes to focus. “A little under a bell’s time,” he gasps.

“Good, that’s _plenty_ of time for you to prove it to me.” Minseok sits up and tugs at Sehun’s arms until Sehun sits up as well, his spine curving to tuck himself against Minseok’s neck and cling. He laps at the man’s exposed collarbones, hungrily tasting his skin, until Minseok huffs exasperatedly and drags him up off the couch. “On your _knees_ ,” he hisses, bearing down on Sehun’s shoulders.

Sehun sinks to his knees gracefully, keeping his spine straight and his head up proud. He immediately wraps his hands around Minseok’s thighs and squeezes, surpressing his shudder of excitement at the feel of the leather-wrapped flesh. Sehun’s torso is long, and Minseok’s legs are _not_ particularly long, so sitting comfortably back on his heels, Sehun’s face is at just the right height to lean forward and nuzzle the lacing of his fly. A strangled little noise emits from above him, and Sehun rolls his eyes up to look through his lashes at Minseok’s face, his cheek pressed to the rather impressive ridge of Minseok’s cock and his expression exaggeratedly seductive.

“Heavens and hells,” Minseok swears, digging both hands into Sehun’s blond hair. “You _are_ a horrible tease. If you’re going to suck me, just suck me.”

“Hmmm,” Sehun purrs, finding the end of the lacing and pulling the bow undone with his teeth. “Is that an order?” He raises his eyebrows challengingly.

Minseok pulls the rest of the lacing open with one hand, the other one tightening into Sehun’s hair and yanking his head back. He pushes the front of his trousers down just enough for his cock to be freed. “It fucking well is,” he snarls. “ _Suck me_.”

Sehun chuckles, purposely infuriating. “As you wish,” he murmurs, and leans forward.

Minseok smells like leather and tastes like salt, and as Sehun licks teasing stripes along the shaft, he is certain to keep his hips still, his hands resting gently and non-committally on Minseok’s thighs. It would spoil the game for him to reveal how badly he wants this, to give any hint that his heartbeat is leaping excitedly and his cock is like stone against his buttoned fly.

The hand in his hair is tight and controlling, but not controlling enough that Sehun can’t draw this out, his mouth steadily moving but never in the _good_ spots, purposely avoiding the slit, the underside of the head, or enveloping the entire shaft at once. In minutes Minseok is moaning with want and growling in frustration all at once, and when Sehun judges he’s about to reach his breaking point, he suddenly and without warning sucks half the shaft down in one go and holds it there.

Minseok cries out softly and tries to thrust, but Sehun pulls back enough that it doesn’t get him far. And for all his big talk, Minseok seems reluctant to actually hold him in place, to force him to take his cock down, as if there is a part of him worried about hurting Sehun, or offending him.

That’s fine with Sehun. The cock in his mouth is gratifyingly thick and heavy, and working it over is a sensual delight. He communicates his enjoyment with a soft but heartfelt moan of pleasure, working his tongue gently against the underside until he feels a pulse of hardness and tastes a spurt of bitter salt. Under his hands, Minseok’s thighs are tensing with his pleasure, and Sehun is shameless about tracing out the curves of his muscles, about sliding his hands around to cup his pert ass. He relaxes his throat, takes a deep breath, and tugs Minseok forward by the butt, forcing him to thrust all the way in.

Minseok gasps as his cock suddenly pushes down over the back of Sehun’s tongue. Sehun raises his eyes as best he can and cocks an eyebrow, his mouth stretched around the base of Minseok’s cock. “Fuck,” Minseok swears, and there’s a satisfying tinge of awe in his voice. “You fucking - _Sehun_.”

Sehun chuckles, deep in the back of his throat, making sure it vibrates Minseok’s cock until he gets a moan. Then he pulls off with a wet, lewd _pop_. “Actually,” he murmurs, his voice throaty and low, “I’m fucking _Minseok_. _You_ are fucking Sehun.”

It startles a laugh out of him. “It’s a good thing I’m not in this for your sense of humor,” Minseok growls, “because it’s _terrible_.”

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Sehun grins up at him. “So why _are_ you in this?” Sehun asks, half teasing and half seriously curious.

“Clearly,” Minseok says dryly, “I am using you for your position. Currently, I am using you for your position on your knees.” He cradles Sehun’s head in one hand and guides his cock to Sehun’s lips with the other. “Get back to sucking, you infuriating bastard.”

Hah. Sehun winks at him and takes him down in one shot. Minseok moans, but Sehun’s not done; he starts bobbing his head in long, swift strokes, his tongue working the underside of the head relentlessly, aiming to overwhelm Minseok with sudden sensation.

It works. Minseok’s knees buckle in a satisfyingly short span of time, and Sehun pushes him back down onto the couch, moving forward as he does so that his mouth never comes off of Minseok’s furiously hard cock. Collapsing against the back of the couch, Minseok arches, his breath heaving through his entire torso and his thighs shaking.

Sehun might be on his knees, but he clearly has the upper hand; he holds Minseok’s hips down and moves at his own pace, faster and then slower, judging by the hardness of his cock and the tightness of his muscles how close Minseok is to coming and dragging him back away from the edge over and over again.

When Minseok is an incoherent, moaning mess, and he spots the glimmer of a tear in the corner of one eye, Sehun finally takes pity on him and brings him over the cliff. Minseok comes directly down his throat, Sehun’s eyes closed in concentration so he does not lose a single drop, and he pulls back to lap at the tip until Minseok shudders violently with overstimulation.

Sehun sits back, wipes his lower lip with his thumb, and grins. “Classy enough for you?” he asks.

Minseok laughs weakly, his body beautifully boneless. “Most dignified blowjob I ever had,” he agrees, and tugs on Sehun’s collar. “Get up here.”

Getting to his feet, Sehun lets Minseok tug him down next to him on the couch, lets him lick into his mouth and his hands wander. He settles his own around Minseok’s waist, palms pressed to warm skin, and for the moment just enjoys letting someone else lead him.

But, when Minseok’s palm brushes over Sehun’s bulging fly, Sehun wraps his fingers around Minseok’s wrist and halts him. Minseok pulls back and looks at him.

“No?” he asks.

Sehun takes in his face - concern hidden behind his carefully non-committal expression - and smiles. “Not today,” he murmurs. “As much as I appreciate the offer.”

Dark eyes narrow. “Why?”

“Because you think you have to,” Sehun explains. “So I’m showing you that you don’t.”

A confused blink. “But you…”

“Ah.” Sehun holds up a shushing finger. “Spare me your assumptions. Dinner will be arriving any moment.” He gestures at Minseok’s open fly. “You may wish to do something about that. I traumatize Jongin enough as it is.”

As if summoned by his name, the nineteenth-bell knock came at the door, and Minseok hurries to do up his pants. Covering his smile, Sehun waits a few beats, settling his clothes and hair, before calling for Jongin to enter.

As he sets out the food, Sehun catches Jongin glancing between the two men curiously. He clears his throat to catch Jongin’s attention, and asks, “Did Kyungsoo respond?” 

A nod. “He will be here within a bell’s time,” Jongin murmurs.

Sehun does not comment on how very quickly Jongin was able to get ahold of him, and instead simply nods his acknowledgement. As Jongin leaves, Minseok curiously asks, “Who is Kyungsoo?”

“A friend,” Sehun says dismissively. “An old friend. Eat.”

Minseok eats. He’s hesitant about it at first, glancing at Sehun as if he thinks this might be a trick, or a trap, but when Sehun begins his own meal and carefully refrains from looking at him too much, Minseok relaxes somewhat.

Sehun purposely does not start conversation again, intending to let Minseok eat in peace. To his surprise, though, it’s Minseok who strikes up conversation, asking Sehun about his time on the coast, what he saw there, what he thought of the University and the elves that ran it. Sehun answers between bites, and soon food is all but forgotten in the conversation.

“The elves weren’t even what took the most getting used to,” Sehun admits as he finishes off his entree. “Once you get past the pointed ears and the lifespan, they’re not so different, really. It was the religions, the...the _magic_.” He supresses a shudder.

Minseok’s expression is unreadable. “Does magic frighten you?”

“I don’t like it,” Sehun admits. “By its very nature, magic is volatile, unstable, impossible to totally understand. There are those who spend their lives learning it and I still am wary about such a tool in _their_ hands; anyone whose understanding is lesser than that is a disaster waiting to happen.”

A thick eyebrow raises. “Mortals have been practicing magic since long before any of the technologies of this culture,” Minseok points out.

“Yeah, and blowing themselves up in the process. I _saw_ the consequences of mortals playing with forces beyond them. No thank you.” 

Whatever Minseok’s answer might have been, it is interrupted by the after-dinner knock. Sehun calls for Jongin to enter, and as he does so, sees Kyungsoo is with him as well.

Beside him, Minseok stiffens.

“Hello, darling,” Kyungsoo says, breezing into the room with his usual flirtatious attitude. Sehun stands to greet him, and Minseok gets to his feet hurriedly as well. As Jongin moves quietly into the room to clear the dinner dishes, Sehun drags Kyungsoo into an embrace, ignoring the smaller man’s feigned protests.

“My dearest one,” Sehun teases with a grin. “I have need of your inestimable expertise.”

“What’s mine is yours,” Kyungsoo agrees airily. “With, ah, some exception.” His eyes slide unconsciously to Jongin, and Sehun follows his gaze in time to spot the deep red blush that crawls up his servant’s neck. Hah. He _knew_ it.

Minseok clears his throat. “I’ll be going, then,” he says, rather roughly. He moves to do just that, but Sehun reaches out and catches his wrist, his heart leaping oddly.

“No, please,” Sehun says softly. “Stay.” Before Minseok can protest, or answer at all, Sehun tugs him around to face Kyungsoo, who is regarding them both with round, curious eyes. “Kyungsoo, may I present to you Kim Minseok, my new floor manager.”

Kyungsoo holds out a hand for him to shake, and Minseok hesitates, but he does so. They are evenly matched in height, which makes the comparative broadness of Minseok’s shoulders, the muscularity of his exposed forearms, that much more obvious. His handshake is strong, grip powerful enough that Sehun can see it from a distance, and his wrist turns unconsciously, forcing Kyungsoo’s palm upwards. Sehun raises an eyebrow. That action alone is telling; Minseok must feel a need to regain control this situation, beginning with taking the dominant role in his interaction with Kyungsoo.

And Kyungsoo, being Kyungsoo, clearly notices this, but he shows no reaction, other than to cup Minseok’s hand with his other, gently turning their hands so that they are back on equal ground. “A pleasure,” he murmurs, his tone making it sound like it really is. He glances up at Sehun as his hands slide out from Minseok’s. “What happened to your old floor manager?”

“I fired him,” Sehun says. “If you want to get specific, I fired _all_ of them.”

Kyungsoo stares. “Ah,” he murmurs. “Now I know why you need my help.”

 

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

 

Sehun explains the situation. Kyungsoo’s eyebrows get higher and higher as Sehun describes the systematic termination of his entire floor management.

Then, Sehun spreads out the files on the table - Minseok’s removed, since that decision has been made - and asks for Kyungsoo’s opinions. As Kyungsoo is reading over the files, Minseok leans in close and asks in a low tone why Sehun bothered with his opinion, if he was going to seek out someone else’s anyway.

Without looking up, Kyungsoo answers him. “Because Sehun likes to double-check things,” he says shortly, paging through a file. “He wants to see if my opinions match up with yours.”

Minseok glances at Sehun, and Sehun nods, to show Kyungsoo is right. “I see,” Minseok mutters.

“Indeed. So please, refrain from voicing your opinions until I am finished.” Kyungsoo holds out four files. “I would choose these four.”

Interesting. Two of them are candidates Minseok had recommended, and two are not. “Explain, please,” Sehun requests.

Kyungsoo explains. His reasons all come from a place of logic and numbers, rather than the personal insights Minseok had, but he does point out a few things Sehun had not considered, such as the fact that experience in each station of one line should be weighted more highly than experience in all of the lines, and that Sehun should also be taking into account whether the candidates have families or not.

Throughout the entire thing, Minseok sits beside Sehun and _vibrates_. There is no other word for it; he is so tightly wound Sehun can feel the tension in him without even touching him, can see him getting more and more restless, like a racing horse at the starting gate. But this is the point where Minseok can no longer contain himself, and he jumps into the conversation.

“Why should whether the candidates have families matter?” he asks.

Kyungsoo blinks at him. “Because they will have priorities other than the factory, obviously.”

“They would also be the ones who most need the money, the promotion.” Minseok sounds heated. It should worry Sehun, but he’s too fascinated by the passion in Minseok’s voice, his expression, to be thinking rationally. “You would throw away three candidates because they’re married, they have children?”

“There is nothing wrong with having a family,” Kyungsoo explains, a little over-patient. There’s a glint in his eyes that Sehun doesn’t quite know how to read. “But of course, these individuals would put their family first in any situation. And that is how it _should_ be. I only point out that this should be kept in mind when planning ahead.”

Minseok sits forward more, his posture combative. “In what situation would they ever need to choose?” he challenges.

“Well, for instance,” Kyungsoo murmurs, “if they were to be required to stay late in the evenings.”

“Except that does not happen at this factory,” Minseok points out. “The lines stop at sixteenth bell every night, no exceptions. If the lines are not running, there’s no reason for the line chiefs to be there.”

“Oh. Truly?” Kyungsoo looks to Sehun for confirmation, and Sehun nods. “Well, that’s a rather large chunk of time wasted, isn’t it?”

Sehun smiles, because yes, he has considered that. “One change at a time, Soo.”

“If you rule out workers with families, you rule out some of the longest-standing, hardest-working, most dependable people on the factory floor,” Minseok insists. “It’s a Gods’-damned _mistake_.”

Silence. A wide smile grows slowly over Kyungsoo’s features.

“I see why you like him, Hun,” he murmurs. “In any case, I’ve said my piece. The decision is up to you, now.”

Sehun nods. One of his hands gently slides up Minseok’s back, instinctively soothing. Minseok still feels like he’s ready to throw himself across the table and throttle Kyungsoo, which would be both inappropriate and unproductive. “I am planning to interview the candidates myself tomorrow,” he explains. “Have you thought more about my offer?”

Dark eyes meet his. “I have,” Kyungsoo hedges. “In all honesty, it grows more and more attractive each day.” 

Reaching over to his side table, Sehun pulls out a slim file near the top of his growing piles and hands it over. The moment Kyungsoo opens it, his eyebrows shoot for the ceiling.

“That,” he says, a little bit too breathily, “is a _very_ attractive offer.”

“I have been in charge of the factory for ten days,” Sehun says quietly. “Already in those ten days, I can see that I will be useless if I do not have people whom I can trust by my side. Please, Soo. I need you.”

Minseok and Kyungsoo both are watching him with unreadable faces, now. Kyungsoo finally breaks the silence.

“I’ll do it,” he says decisively. “I would be an idiot to turn down an opportunity like this. And it will make my father angry.” He grins, sharklike. “What’s not to like?”


	4. Chapter 4

Sehun arrives early at the factory the next day, and finds that Minseok has done the same. This pleases him greatly - he believed that Minseok would take his new position seriously, do whatever he could to do a good job, but it’s satisfying to get solid indications that he is right.

With his new manager’s help, a schedule of interviews is worked out, and all eight of the other candidates are sent in to see Sehun before the end of the day. At the last whistle, Sehun calls all staff - including upper management - out to the floor, and announces the promotions.

Upper management, watching in a knot of bodies off to the side from the workers, is all but silent, but now that respirators are no longer necessary on the floor, he can see their reaction. It isn’t a good one. 

Sehun decides he doesn’t care. If they don’t like it, they can quit - it saves him the hassle of firing them.

As the workers are lining up to leave, Sehun signals for Minseok to come up to his office again. There’s much less hesitation this time. Minseok seems to becoming more comfortable with him, which Sehun is also glad to see.

“How was managing the entire floor?” Sehun asks as he closes his office door behind Minseok.

“Busy,” Minseok admits. “Not unmanageable, but I wouldn’t want to do it again.”

“Did anyone say anything to you about the changes?” Sehun prods, as he packs up his project work and files it away.

Minseok gives him a look. “You know very well they weren’t talking about anything else,” he accuses, and Sehun grins. “Half of them think it’s some kind of trick, half of them are hopeful it isn’t, and everyone is reserving judgement.” He cocks an eyebrow at Sehun. “You haven’t won them over yet.”

“I am hardly attempting to win them over,” Sehun says dryly. “They have little choice. I simply don’t think their lack of an ability to choose is excuse to treat them like animals.” 

Minseok has drifted close in this conversation, and with a little quick maneuvering Sehun gets him backed into the desk, his long arms caging the shorter man in. Taken by surprise, Minseok breathes in sharply, tensing against attack. Sehun is certain to stop there, though, without touching the other man.

“And you?” he asks, letting a fraction of his carefully concealed lust seep into his tone. “Have I won _you_ over?”

Dark eyes search his face for a moment. Sehun wonders what he sees there.

A hand wraps around his wrist, and an ankle around his calf, and the next thing Sehun knows the world is spinning. He hits the desk hard, landing on his back with a painful _whump_ , and can do nothing but try and reclaim his stolen breath when Minseok slams both wrists down to the desk.

“Not yet,” Minseok murmurs, his voice hot in Sehun’s ear. “Keep trying.”

It seems that that is all the point Minseok was trying to make, as he pulls back, pulls away. Sehun refuses to let him, lifting his thighs and locking his ankles behind Minseok’s back.

Minseok stares. Sehun doesn’t have a witty quip right now, so he just stares back, hoping against hope that Minseok will take the bait.

In the end, he does exactly that, leaning down and capturing Sehun’s mouth in a deep, bruising kiss. Sehun sighs in pleasure and kisses back, keeping his mouth soft, letting Minseok lead him. Teeth in his lower lip have him moaning, and it wins him a low growl in response, and it occurs to Sehun how mortified he would be if anyone were to walk in and see him spread out on his own desk with a worker between his legs, but then Minseok rocks forward and Sehun stops thinking at all.

The bulging cock that presses roughly against Sehun’s crotch is already half-hard, swelling to fully hard with gratifying swiftness. Sehun gasps softly as Minseok works between his thighs, clutching Minseok’s shoulders for balance and for grounding. He feels Minseok smile against his mouth, and retaliates by nipping at the pretty bow of Minseok’s upper lip, eliciting another low growl, vibrating from Minseok’s chest into his own.

“Are you available tonight?” Sehun asks breathlessly against Minseok’s lips.

A slow lick along the roof of his mouth, and a press of soft lips against his own. “I am,” Minseok murmurs.

Perfect. “Let me take you out,” Sehun offers. 

Minseok stills. “Take me _out_? In public?”

Sehun gives him an eyebrow. “Why, are you ashamed to be seen with me?”

A startled laugh. “Yes, of course,” Minseok says. He pulls back enough to look Sehun in the eye, his expression once again flat and unreadable, but finally, he says, “If you’re offering, sure.”

Sehun doesn’t bother to hide his pleased smile. “Then go and change,” Sehun murmurs, pressing another kiss to his mouth. “I will meet you in front of my home at eighteenth bell.”

Minseok’s mouth opens, as if to say something more, but he closes it again without voicing his thought. He pulls away - but not without swiping his hand over the front of Sehun’s trousers, a swift but firm touch that has Sehun shuddering and arching. The reaction pulls a smirk to his lips, which Sehun must refrain from attacking with his own.

“I will see you tonight, then, I suppose,” Minseok says, and quietly leaves the room.

 

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

 

Dinner goes better than Sehun might have hoped.

It occurs to him only as he is dressing that perhaps he should have specified to Minseok that he wear something a bit nicer than his usual rough leather and canvas, but it turns out he need not have worried. Minseok is waiting for him in a very flattering double-breasted waistcoat and a soft, slim-cut pair of black trousers; not expensive or particularly well-made, but perfectly presentable, and his easy handsomeness makes the cheap clothes look higher-class than they are.

The ride to the restaurant simmers with low-level sexual tension, flirting gazes and fleeting touches, and Sehun is buzzing with it by the time they arrive. Despite the very real urge to forget dinner and go back home to get fucked - or even in the bench seat of the auto, Sehun’s not that picky - dinner conversation flows well. Minseok is not much of a talker, but he listens as if Sehun is, for the moment, the center of his world, and when faced with those guardedly curious eyes, Sehun finds it difficult to stop talking.

The restaurant is one that belongs to Kyungsoo’s family, one that Sehun has known for years, so he is comfortable enough there to not worry about the curiosity of the waitstaff, or even to care about the occasional judging gaze of a patron who has guessed at their class disparity. Minseok is clearly less comfortable, and clearly notices the glances of others, but Sehun keeps talking, holding his attention as firmly as he can. He’s not exactly sure what he’s trying to prove, or to whom, but he’s determined to do so.

Something Kyungsoo had said niggles at his mind throughout the conversation, throughout dinner, and at the end of the meal Sehun requests to visit the kitchen and thank the cook personally. The waiter is surprised - maybe even _alarmed_ \- at his request, but Sehun is insistent, even dropping Kyungsoo’s name to get his way. Eventually, the waiter acquiesces, and leads them to the back with a quiet reminder to put their respirators on.

The doors are double-layered and sealed, keeping the smog of the kitchens out of the serving floor. The difference in both temperature and visibility is striking; the smog hangs like a miasma in the air, made worse by the coal ovens that line one wall. Sehun’s eyes sting with it. 

He is pointed at the head cook, an older woman with smog-reddened eyes and rough hands, and gushes over the quality of the food to her with half of his mind while the other takes in every detail of the surroundings. He notices that the prep cooks cough an awful lot, notices that all the food is kept under glass cloches as much as possible to protect from the smog, but no such protection is employed for the worker’s eyes. 

The cook bows and murmurs her thanks in a voice made hoarse with smoke. Sehun smiles, praises her one last time, and turns to leave, Minseok following behind him with a nod of his own.

Once they are out in the auto again, Sehun pulls off his respirator with a relieved sigh, breathing deep the conditioned air inside. Minseok does the same and fixes him with a pointed glare.

“What was that about?” he asks. Sehun shrugs, and Minseok’s eyes narrow. “Don’t give me that. You went back there for a reason.”

It’s surprising, that Minseok knows him so well so quickly, but Sehun swallows down the swirls of pleasure and alarm that result and only says, “I wanted to see something.”

Minseok’s gaze does not waver. “Did you find what you expected?”

Sehun’s lips purse as he starts the auto. “And then some.”

 

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

 

Kyungsoo arrives at the factory at the start of the next work cycle, three days after accepting Sehun’s invitation. Sehun wastes no time, firing his current personnel manager with no warning and no small amount of relish. He escorts her out of the building, and comes back to find Kyungsoo has already boxed anything personal of hers that was in the small personnel office and is in the process of sorting through her files.

“What a mess,” he mutters, annoyed. “How in the hells did this woman get anything done?”

“She didn’t,” Sehun quips back, amused. “That’s why I fired her.” Kyungsoo grunts, not looking up. “Do you need anything?” Sehun asks. Shaking his head, Kyungsoo waves a hand dismissively, so Sehun leaves him to get settled.

At the midday bell, Sehun takes Kyungsoo out onto the catwalk and introduces him to the workers. Afterwards, he brings Soo back to his own office, and they stay there for the rest of the workday, discussing their situation and working out plans for the future both short and long-term.

They lose track of time, so when there’s a knock at the door and Minseok enters the room, Sehun glances at the clock in surprise. It’s already after the sixteenth bell - time to go home.

“Yes?” Sehun asks, curious. Minseok’s never actively sought him out before.

“You haven’t been out on the floor all day,” Minseok says. His tone is tighter and more guarded than usual, his expression shuttered and his eyes flicking from Sehun to Kyungsoo and back again. 

Sehun blinks. “I have been busy getting Kyungsoo settled,” he says, because, obviously. “Why, did something happen?”

“No. Nothing unusual. I just thought…” Minseok looks between the two of them again. Kyungsoo is perched on Sehun’s desk, mostly because there isn’t a second chair in the room, and Sehun sees Minseok’s jaw tighten, and it hits him what’s going through his head just as Minseok blurts out, “Alright, I need to know. _What is he to you?_ ”

“Minseok,” Sehun murmurs, surprised by the outburst. Kyungsoo makes a small, interested noise, shifting in his place and crossing one leg over the other as if to say, _this is getting good_. Sehun resists the urge to smack him. “What do you mean? He’s a friend, I told you.”

“Do you take me for a simpleton?” Minseok hisses. There’s too much venom, too much _hurt_ in his voice, and Sehun can’t really figure out why. “I _know_ there is more to it than that.”

Dark eyes bore into Sehun’s, and, in a flash of terrible understanding, Sehun suddenly remembers. Of _course_ \- Minseok has seen Kyungsoo before.

When Sehun was riding him.

Heat flushes across Sehun’s face. He’s been so caught up in all the change, the excitement of becoming closer to Minseok and wooing Kyungsoo to work for him, that he’s totally forgotten about that incident.

Could Minseok be... _jealous?_

His heart leaping into his throat, Sehun leans forward and tries to hide his urgency when he asks, “Why do you care? What is it to you?”

“I won’t be toyed with,” Minseok snarls, coming closer. “I am not a convenient _plaything_. If you and he are - ” and he stops, glancing at Kyungsoo, who is silent, face is carefully neutral. He starts again, his voice lower. “If there is anything between you, anything between _us_ ends now.”

“Goodness,” Kyungsoo murmurs, sounding fascinated.

“But _is_ there anything between us?” Sehun asks breathlessly. He’s on his feet and he doesn’t remember how. “Tell me that.”

A long pause, and a considering gaze. “...Yes,” Minseok admits finally. “Of course there is.”

Sehun _crows_ , throwing his hands towards the sky in victory. Minseok takes a startled step back, but Kyungsoo only chuckles.

“There has not been anything serious between Sehun and I for some years,” Kyungsoo assures Minseok in soft, low tones. “We tease each other, but it is not more than that. And of late, I am not available myself, in any case.” He sneaks a sly look at Sehun as he says it, and Sehun doesn’t bother to hide his grin.

“If you want me,” Sehun says, coming around the desk to put himself right into Minseok’s space, “I am yours. Fully, and without reservation. Just say the words.” He stops, right before touching Minseok. “Tell me you want me to be yours.”

The pause is breathless, _excruciating_ , but thankfully short. “I want you to be mine,” Minseok agrees, reaching out to take Sehun’s shoulders in his hands. “ _Only_ mine.”

Sehun leans down as Minseok leans up, and then they are kissing, deep and passionate. Sehun wants to dance, to leap around and cheer his triumph from the rooftops, but instead he pours all of that from his mouth into Minseok’s, lets his elation be felt in his hands, heard in his moans.

Kyungsoo clearing his throat brings them both back to reality. Minseok pulls away, but Sehun doesn’t let him go far. “This is all very touching,” Kyungsoo murmurs, his eyes dancing with amusement, “but I feel I should caution you two on your behavior within the factory.” He jerks his head at the door. “Any perceptions of bias or favoritism could undermine _both_ of your authority, amongst the floor workers and the management staff alike.” Standing, Kyungsoo graces them both with a smile. “Just a reminder.” 

He quietly lets himself out of the room. Sehun takes a deep breath.

“He’s right,” he says. “We should keep our interactions here...professional.” Minseok raises an eyebrow. It’s such a devastating expression, Sehun nearly goes weak on the spot. “Come home with me?” he asks.

A smile, small but unmistakable. “If you like,” Minseok agrees.

They stay a good arm’s length apart from one another as they dress for the outdoors, cross the compound, and enter the mansion. Sehun signals Jongin for dinner for two tonight, and gets an amused nod in response. 

The moment the suite door is closed, Minseok pounces. As always, Sehun melts instinctively at his touch, letting the older man move him, guide him. In seconds he’s pressed facefirst into the door, his arms pinned down and his back forced out into an arch, presenting his ass to Minseok in a very lewd fashion. 

Minseok pauses for but a moment to admire him, before wrapping a hand around Sehun’s hip and tugging him back until Minseok’s cock, already hard, rubs long strokes over Sehun’s ass. Sehun makes a soft sound, his upper body relaxing as his lower pushes back, grinding himself greedily into Minseok’s crotch, thoroughly enjoying his thick hardness and breathlessly anticipating finally getting it inside him.

“Too many Gods-be-damned _clothes_ ,” Minseok growls into Sehun’s shoulderblades. “Off. Now.”

Sehun rushes to obey. His many layers take quite a while, but it’s worth it, for the sheer weight of Minseok’s gaze on him, for the view of Minseok hurriedly undressing as well.

They don’t make it to the bedroom, instead collapsing onto the couch, Minseok first and Sehun spread out over him. Despite being the one on his back, Minseok is very much in control, his hands hot and his mouth demanding. Sehun barely has time to get his knees arranged on either side of Minseok’s hips before Minseok is rolling up, thrusting against him again, this time skin-on-skin. There’s no slickness, nothing to smooth the way, and their skin catches and rubs almost painfully, but Sehun gasps in pleasure anyway - he’s so sensitized, by this point _everything_ feels good.

“Oil,” Minseok pants into his skin. “I won’t - I’m not waiting any longer.”

“Hells, _yes_ ,” Sehun gasps, and struggles clumsily forward, reaching long arms over Minseok’s head to the side table where he keeps his handy jar. It puts his bare chest right over Minseok’s face, and just as his fingers close around the jar he feels a hot mouth envelop one nipple and suck. “ _Min_ -”

An approving hum, and Sehun pulls his arm back, resting both hands on the far armrest so he can stay stretched over Minseok’s face. Warm palms slide up his back, sweeping up the length of his spine, fingers splaying over Sehun’s prominent shoulderblades. Minseok’s teeth graze sensitive skin, and Sehun cries out softly, earning himself a smile against his chest.

“Stop teasing,” Sehun demands breathlessly, “and _fuck me_.”

“Bossy bastard,” Minseok growls, but he tugs Sehun back by his hips, settling him back down in alignment with his own body. Despite his impatience, Sehun can’t resist collapsing fully forward for one moment, just to feel Minseok’s skin against his own. He mouths down Minseok’s body, nipping at the skin until Minseok huffs in exasperation and plucks the oil from Sehun’s hands. “Come here.”

He arranges Sehun such that he’s on all fours over Minseok’s body, his elbows on either side of Minseok’s head and his ass lifted. Minseok opens the jar and sets it on the floor next to the couch before dipping his fingers in it and reaching down. When the first cool touch slides between his cheeks, Sehun moans and drops his head, his lips coming to rest on Minseok’s forehead.

That Minseok is well-practiced at this is _immediately_ apparent. His fingers are rough with callouses, adding a touch of delicious friction to the otherwise slick glide of skin on oiled skin, and since Sehun works himself open fairly regularly and Minseok knows it, he wastes little time. Two fingers quickly becomes three, and soon the pressure, the fullness, has Sehun gasping, aching for more.

Minseok rolls his head out from under Sehun’s mouth, nudging his jaw to the side. Sehun tilts his head obediently, and Minseok immediately latches onto the tendon of his neck, licking and sucking and worrying a bruise into the skin. It’s up high enough that Sehun’s cravat won’t cover it, and Sehun thinks that is probably the point.

“Enough,” Sehun gasps, impatient. “Please - ”

A long groan. “I can’t believe - ” Minseok pants against Sehun’s skin, withdrawing his hand and reaching down to the oil pot again. “I never imagined - ” he tries again, and again he stops mid-thought.

Sehun sits up, sliding back onto Minseok’s thighs, making sure to drag his oiled skin over Minseok’s cock as he does so. Minseok makes a curious noise, somewhere between a snarl and a moan, and his features twist up in gorgeous ways. 

“What?” Sehun asks, watching avidly as Minseok wraps oiled fingers around his own cock and strokes. 

Minseok flashes him a tight smile. “Never mind,” he says, teasing. “You don’t need your ego stroked.”

“No, right now I was hoping you’d be stroking something else,” Sehun agrees, and Minseok chuckles. He wraps both hands around Sehun’s thighs, one oily and one dry, and tugs, urging Sehun to rise up onto his knees. 

Sehun does so, bracing his hands on Minseok’s chest for balance as Minseok lines himself up. The man under him raises his hips, just enough for the head of his cock to press against Sehun’s hole, and that slight touch alone has Sehun’s body shuddering, his cock jerking. 

Sehun sinks down.

The words that fly from Minseok’s mouth as he arches don’t sound like any language Sehun knows, but the sentiment is understood, and Sehun agrees with a wordless, harsh moan. He’s stuffed so full it makes his hipbones ache, but it’s _wonderful_. 

Before either of them can catch their breath, Sehun starts to rock. Not up and down, not yet, but a small, forward-and-back motion, grinding Minseok’s hardness against his insides. It’s purposely not too intensive on his part, so that he is free to drink in Minseok’s expressions, to catalogue his reactions. He is enamored with the tense and stretch of Minseok’s muscles as he writhes, fascinated by the rapid shifts of his facial features, and he wonders how long he could ride Minseok like this before the man gets impatient and takes over.

He decides to find out.

“Was this what you never imagined?” Sehun asks, soft and breathless with the creeping pleasure building in his gut. “To have me naked in your arms?”

A short, tight laugh. “Hah. That, I imagined many times,” Minseok shoots back. His eyes are fiery with lust. “In my mind I have already taken you in every position, on every surface, in every state of dress and undress, over and over until every part of you is wet and shaking and the only word you can say is my name.”

“ _Ohfuck_ ,” Sehun moans. The words sending a wave of heat over his body, from fingers and toes and the top of his head, pooling in his cock and forcing a dribble of precome out of his body. “Then...what…?”

Minseok’s hands slide forward over Sehun’s thighs, then drag back, caressing his skin in long strokes. Each time he reaches forward, his chest flexes under Sehun’s hands, and Sehun digs his fingers in, greedy for the sensation. “I never imagined it would be real,” Minseok admits in a low, hoarse murmur. “I never thought you would actually...I assumed it was a game, to you. A distraction.”

Sehun laughs, but there’s little humor in it. “You thought I would take such a risk if I was not aiming for the highest reward?” he asks, a bit incredulous. “You don’t know me very well, then.”

“Hah. I suppose not,” Minseok agrees. He cocks an eyebrow playfully. “I look forward to learning more.”

This time it’s a different shiver in Sehun’s body, one of delighted anticipation. “Well, lesson one,” Sehun murmurs. He leans down a little, making sure to grind his ass back as he does so. “I like it rough,” he whispers.

“Mmmm,” Minseok hums approvingly. “Is that so?” He reaches forward more, enough to wrap Sehun’s hips in his hands, and Sehun feels his thighs lift as Minseok bends his knees, plants his feet on the cushions, and begins withdrawing his cock. Whimpering softly under his breath, Sehun tilts his hips back, presenting himself for the first hard slam of Minseok’s cock inside his body.

It doesn’t come. Instead, Minseok presses forward with the same excruciating slowness as he withdrew, his cock pushing Sehun open like a plow tilling a field. He doesn’t even drive all the way inside, instead reversing partway and drawing back again. It’s slow, it’s steady, it feels lovely - but it’s not what Sehun wants.

Sehun looks down at Minseok and pouts. The smile that spreads over Minseok’s face is wicked.

“You’re teasing me,” Sehun accuses.

“What was your first clue?” Minseok quips back as he pushes back inside, thick and hot but infuriatingly gentle. “I’m sorry, can you not handle a taste of your own medicine?”

Any thoughts of dragging it out fly from Sehun’s head. “Have I not waited long enough?” he asks, pushing his hips back in a fruitless attempt for more friction. “Have the weeks of watching you from afar, of letting you in to see what I have shown few others, of patiently waiting for the _smallest_ hint you might someday return my interest not proven to you my sincerity?”

Minseok has stilled, his eyes wide. “Sehun…” he murmurs, reproachful. “You won’t always get what you want, just because you want it.”

Sehun tries to keep the pleading out of his voice, but fails. “I thought I already had what I want,” he breathes. “I thought I had _you_.”

“Shit,” Minseok whispers. He wraps a hand around Sehun’s back, pulls him close. “Shit, you little fucking _brat_. Of course you do.” 

“Then fuck me, please,” Sehun murmurs into his skin, and means every word of it. “If you are mine, then make me yours.”

The first real thrust shunts Sehun forward, slamming into him with a force that would send him flying if Minseok wasn’t holding him so tight. Sehun keens and goes limp, clutching Minseok’s shoulders with his face tucked against Minseok’s neck.

“Yes,” he gasps, “ _yes_ \- ”

Minseok drags back and fucks into him again. “You needy - ”

“ _Ahh,_ ” Sehun cries.

Another thrust, even harder. “ - _Greedy_ \- ” 

Sehun turns his head and presses his lips to Minseok’s neck, screwing his eyes shut as the next deep thrust hits him.

“ - Spoiled _rotten_ little - ”

“Minseokkk,” Sehun whines softly.

“ - _Brat_. Fuck. Sehun. _Sehun_.” He’s fucking faster and faster, clearly putting as much strength into it as he dares. The sensation is completely overwhelming, just the way Sehun likes it best. He clings, he cries out, and he lets Minseok have him, giving himself over.

“Thank you,” he gasps in Minseok’s ear, and Minseok’s grip on his hips tightens to bruising. “It’s so good, so good, thank you, _yes_ \- ” 

The groan of pleasure in Sehun’s ear is even more satisfying than the pounding friction. “Beautiful,” Minseok murmurs, half sultry and half wrecked. “Can you pull tighter for me? C’mon, darling.”

It’s worded like a request, but the tone is commanding, and Sehun instantly obeys, concentrating hard on clenching as tightly as he can. It makes Minseok feel even bigger inside him, elevates the friction between them, and when Minseok next pounds into him, the feeling of being split open is _so_ much more intense. Sehun’s hands curl into claws, scratching down Minseok’s shoulders in his desperation. His cock feels like a shaken bottle of champagne, bubbling with lust and ready to burst.

Somehow, Minseok seems to realize this, to understand it. “Can you come untouched?” he asks, his voice gravelly. “Just like this?”

Trembling, Sehun shakes his head. He’s never been able to do that.

“We’ll work on that,” Minseok promises, and Sehun moans in shock. Then Minseok is worming a hand between their bodies, clenching his still-oily fist around Sehun’s aching cock. There isn’t enough space between them for him to truly stroke, but his grip is firm and his thumb rubs circles in that sensitive little spot under the head, and like that champagne bottle has been uncorked, Sehun feels his release rising inside him.

It’s only two more hard strokes before Sehun is coming, gasping into Minseok’s shoulder as warmth pulses from within him and spreads between them. Minseok groans, and his pace somehow, impossibly, doubles, fucking Sehun through his orgasm and careening into one of his own. By the time he does, Sehun has gone limp, and can only make a soft sound of enjoyment as he feels Minseok pulse inside him.

Minseok relaxes, his chest heaving with his breath, and Sehun closes his eyes and listens to the pace of his heartbeat until it slows.

 

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

 

“I heard you had a good night last night,” Kyungsoo says the next day. He eyes Sehun, who is walking with a distinct limp and very smug about it. 

“If you heard about it,” Sehun shoots back, “then you must have seen the only person who might have _told_ you about it, so I doubt very much you have room to tease.” Kyungsoo’s grin widens, and Sehun knows he’s right. “Enough. I know you have a reason for being in here,” he says, pointing at the files in Kyungsoo’s hands. “Explain.”

Kyungsoo snorts a laugh and dumps the files on the desk. “We have a lot of work to do.”

 

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

 

“What do you mean, the factory doesn’t pay a reasonable living wage?”

Kyungsoo gives him a terribly condescending look. “Please, Sehun. Your privilege is showing.”

Now, honestly, that isn’t fair at all. “Your family is richer than mine,” Sehun points out.

“Yes, but it is my _job_ to understand the point of view of the worker. Look, did you hire me to stand around and look handsome and dashing, or am I here to help you make your workers’ lives better?”

Sehun heaves out a breath. “How big is the wage discrepancy?” 

Kyungsoo tells him. Sehun hides his wince. 

“The finance manager is not going to like this.”

 

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

 

The finance manager does not, in fact, like it.

The finance manager tells Sehun how much he does not like it loudly, and angrily, and with much more putting of his hands on Sehun’s person than necessary. 

The finance manager is summarily escorted off the premises, and Kyungsoo is assigned to find a new one before the week is out.

Sehun doesn’t make it home for several hours after the last bell, taking it upon himself to untangle the finances and figure out how much of a monetary hit it would be to give the workers the raise Kyungsoo has suggested. It will be tight, but his other plans should hopefully make up some of the difference. All it really cuts into is the gross profit, the bottom line - and at this point in time, Sehun doesn’t truly need that money. He’s willing to take this risk for the future payoff.

It is well past his usual suppertime when he finally stumbles into the house, mumbling something to Jongin about food and brandy and tiredly pulling his respirator off as he climbs the stairs. 

To his surprise - and exhausted delight - Minseok is in his parlor, waiting, slouched comfortably in the armchair with a book open in his lap. He looks up as Sehun enters, one eyebrow raising as he takes in Sehun’s less-than-poised state.

“Kyungsoo said you might be having a rough day,” Minseok murmurs. “I didn’t think it would be _this_ rough.” He glances at the clock. “When was the last time you ate?”

Sehun also glances at the clock, tiredly doing the math in his head. “About...fifteen bells ago.”

Minseok gets to his feet and comes closer, and it’s a good thing he does, because as Sehun is pulling his tailcoat off his shoulders, his vision greys around the edges and he sways in place. Strong hands wrap around his waist, steadying him.

Dropping his head onto Minseok’s shoulder, Sehun takes a moment, half-tangled in his coat and uncaring, to just breathe.

“You know, for someone who’s so spoiled, you sure do work a lot,” Minseok mutters. “C’mon, sit down before you fall down.” He guides Sehun to the couch, helps him strip off his coat. Sehun lets himself be moved, basking rather inappropriately in the attention. 

“Despite the name of the working class,” Sehun mumbles, “it is expected that the executive class work longer and harder than everyone else. You know that.” He shrugs. “I was raised to be this.”

Minseok sits next to him, folding Sehun’s fine coat in his hands and placing it over the couch back. “You do realize than the majority of your class doesn’t _actually_ follow that standard, right?” he asks dryly. “You work harder than any two of your managers together. You _certainly_ work much harder than your uncle, who basically just left the running of the factory to the staff and collected the profit.”

Sehun eyes Minseok skeptically, not sure how to take this slight against his family’s ethic. “How would you know that?”

A snort. “Well, for one, because I heard the managers complaining about it,” Minseok points out, “but also because you’ve completely turned the factory on its head in only a few months’ time. And...believe me, the workers are grateful.” He smiles. “When I go out with my friends, I hear them brag to others about working here, working for you. The changes you’re making are having a huge impact. I just…”

His tone makes Sehun sit up straighter. “You just what?” he asks. Minseok’s eyes shutter again, the smile fading from his features, and no, _no_. “Min, _what?_ ”

A sigh. “I worry,” Minseok admits. “I worry that your actions will have consequences none of us could foresee. I worry that you’re...making enemies.” He meets Sehun’s eyes solemnly. “Not everyone agrees with your outlook. It goes against a very deeply ingrained mindset.”

Sehun frowns. “The mindset is _wrong_.”

“I don’t disagree, believe me. But there are many people, _powerful_ people, who do.” Minseok sighs. “Please, just...be careful.”

On another day, Sehun would take the opportunity to tease Minseok for sounding so attached, so concerned. Tonight, though, his concern feels like an ointment on Sehun’s soul. 

Sehun kicks his legs up and slings them over Minseok’s lap, his arms winding around Minseok’s neck. Strong arms wrap around Sehun’s back, and Sehun tucks his head against Minseok’s cheek and lets the older man just hold him until dinner arrives.

Later, after they have eaten and Sehun feels more like a human being, Minseok pins him by his neck, facedown on the expensive rug, and fucks him until his world goes white - and that is a balm of a different, but no less soothing, kind.

 

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

 

It is harder than expected to find a finance manager who isn’t a classist bigot, and for weeks, Sehun is doing the work of two men to pick up the slack. He’s home late most nights.

Fortunately for him, Minseok has all but moved into his rooms, returning to his own only to get clothes or pick up things he needs. He’s been there every night, to talk, or to cuddle, or to fuck, or all three. He’s fast becoming Sehun’s main anchor and the only reason Sehun reason forces himself to go home at night, and as a result, the only reason Sehun does not collapse from exhaustion.

It’s the night before a rest day, and Sehun manages to get everything he needs wrapped up only half a bell after the workers have left, for a change. There’s a spring in his step as he exits the factory, locking the doors behind him.

As he is crossing the compound, making his way between two of the tenements and about to round the corner to the path leading up to his mansion, Sehun feels a hand close around his upper arm. Guessing that it is Minseok on his way to the same place, he turns, a smile beginning on his lips.

He registers the second and third hands on his body a moment too late. A moment after that, he sees unfamiliar eyes shaded under generous hoods. 

Sehun doesn’t even have a chance to yell before a blow to his head sends him into darkness.

 

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

 

Sehun comes around an indeterminate amount of time later, head pounding and cheek stinging with the harshness of a slap. He immediately thrashes, writhing to get away, but quickly realizes he is immobilized. 

He makes his swimming vision focus, and groggily determines he is in an armchair, the big, heavy kind, and that his arms and legs and torso are strapped to it. It’s such an absurd position to be in that Sehun can only stare blankly down at the strapping around his wrist, his unconsciousness-addled mind trying desperately to make sense of what he is seeing.

It is for this reason that it takes him too long to notice the men in the room with him, the weapons out in their hands. One on each side of him, both carrying hand firearms, and another standing a little ways away, near a fireplace.

A fireplace Sehun recognizes. 

A _man_ Sehun recognizes.

“Uncle,” he murmurs, his words slurring. “What - ”

His uncle turns, regarding him with a flat expression. “I’m very disappointed in you, Sehun.”

Sehun freezes. “What?”

A sad shake of the head. “Imagine, my own blood turning street.” His lip curls into a sneer. “Your parents would be ashamed.”

“I don’t understand,” Sehun says, because really, _what_.

“Clearly,” his uncle replies, dry. “What were you thinking? I let you take the factory because I thought you would do it justice, not _run it into the ground_.” Stung, Sehun opens his mouth to protest, but his uncle keeps talking. “Throwing half of your staff into the street without a thought for their years of service. Cutting production, wasting resources on idiotic projects. It’s a disgrace.”

Sehun blinks. “Production is _up_.”

If his uncle hears him, he doesn’t show it. “In three months, you’ve singlehandedly decimated what took me and my father _decades_ to build. If your mother knew of this, she would be heartbroken.” He nods over Sehun’s head. “For her sake, I won’t tell her the truth.”

Sehun looks up just in time to see the barrel of a pistol level with his head.

“Uncle?” he asks shakily, feeling very distinctly as the blood drains from his face. 

“Your body will be left just outside the tenements, your valuables gone and clothes obviously searched. A random act of violence. Tragic.”

“You can’t possibly be serious,” Sehun says. His voice sounds like it comes from far away. Dazed as he still is, he’s having enough trouble just keeping his uncle’s backlit form in focus, let alone absorbing the sheer _insanity_ of his words.

A sigh. “My boy, I am _quite_ serious,” his uncle replies. “I think it is _you_ who does not realize the severity of your actions. The reckless squandering of resources, the rejection of esteemed members of your own class. Contemptible. Fortunately, no one has to know.” He turns his back, his eyes sliding carelessly from Sehun’s shocked face. “Kill him.”

Sehun opens his mouth to beg, to scream, but his voice is drowned out by a gunshot. His heart jolts, slamming into his ribs, and he waits for pain, numbness, the warmth of blood seeping out of his skin.

It doesn’t come. Instead, he hears a thud, and the pistol pointed at his head is gone. He looks down and catches a glimpse of the man bleeding out on the expensive rug before the room erupts into chaos.

Things are happening so fast, and Sehun is still so dizzy, that it takes him far too long to realize there’s someone behind him, slicing open the straps that hold him down. He’s too busy trying to follow the brown-and-pink blur that’s sweeping through the room.

By the time Sehun is freed and is being helped to his feet, the second unknown man is also bleeding on the rug and Sehun’s uncle is on his knees. Behind him is Minseok, blood on his hands and a blade to Sehun’s uncle’s throat, looking _furious_.

“Don’t,” Sehun manages to croak out. He sees Minseok’s hands twitch, but they don’t move, and black eyes meet his over the respirator covering his face.

“He was seconds from having your brains blown out,” Minseok snarls. “He’s _dead_.”

“He’s _family_ ,” Sehun protests. Despite what’s just happened, Sehun can only see his mother’s face when she receives news her brother is dead. He can’t...He _won’t_.

“Sir,” a softer voice says at his side. Sehun looks down at the man currently holding him up and recognizes Jongdae’s cat eyes. “If he lives, he’ll come after you again.”

Sehun shakes his head and looks his uncle in the eyes. “If you do,” he says, infusing as much conviction into his shaking voice as he can, “or you send anyone else, I will not spare you a second time.”

His uncle does not respond, but then, Sehun hardly expected him to. Minseok makes an angry noise, but he lets Sehun’s uncle go, shoving him to the ground. “Move,” he growls, and Jongdae urges Sehun to turn, his arm around Sehun’s waist keeping him upright when the action makes the room spin.

Minseok’s arm around Sehun’s other side steadies him, and as they make their way through painfully familiar halls, the walls begin to steady as well. They’re silent by mutual agreement, making their way out as quickly as they can manage.

The smog of the outdoors hits Sehun like sand poured down his throat. He chokes and coughs, doubling over immediately, only the two sets of arms around him keeping him from hitting the ground as his lungs burn.

“Shit,” Minseok hisses, and within the next second, Sehun can breathe again. It takes him a moment to realize Minseok’s pulled his own respirator off his face and is pressing it to Sehun’s. 

Sehun’s tugged forward before he can protest, down the front stairs of his uncle’s manor and around the side. There’s an auto coach waiting around the corner, and as Jongdae pulls the door open, Minseok all but shoves Sehun into the back bench seat, climbing in after him. Jongdae gets into the passenger side, both doors slam shut, and the auto jerks forward. Confused, Sehun looks up to see who is driving.

Familiar round eyes meet his in the mirror. “Guess this means you’re one of us, now,” Kyungsoo says.


	5. Chapter 5

The drive is silent. For long minutes, Sehun is too stunned, too shaken, to speak, instead curled half on top of Minseok and silently reliving what has just happened.

He still has no idea what he did to provoke such an extreme reaction. For his own _uncle_ to attempt to have him _murdered_...It’s just completely inconceivable. 

Sehun’s world has been turned inside out.

He doesn’t realize quite how far-reaching the consequences are, though, until he glances out the window and sees row after row of tall, narrow, acid-pitted brick buildings, of street lamps more shattered than whole and the occasional grimy, masked face peering at the auto with curiosity and suspicion.

“Where are we?” he finally asks.

“Lowtown,” Kyungsoo answers him, his tone matter-of-fact. 

Sehun blinks, and struggles to sit up. His head is still pounding, but at least he can focus his eyes now. “Are you trying to get us _all_ killed?”

“You’re safer here than you would be returning to the factory compound,” Minseok growls, but his hands are gentle as he helps Sehun to sit. “You’ll be safer here than _anywhere_.”

“Especially since your uncle still lives,” Jongdae adds. Sehun sees Kyungsoo glance sharply to the side, apparently unaware of this. “No doubt he is already devising a story to explain your absence and retake control of the factory.”

Kyungsoo huffs out a breath. “That will make my job interesting,” he mumbles. He turns the car down a side alley and halts, setting the brake and turning off the engine. “We don’t have another respirator,” he points out. 

“I’ve got it,” Minseok says, handing Sehun his own. Sehun looks at him in confusion. “Don’t give me that, I’ll just hold my breath. It’s not far.”

Sehun should argue, but his throat still burns from the single lungful of smog he’s taken in already. He silently pulls the mask over his features, his shaky fingers fumbling with the straps.

Kyungsoo’s dark eyes meet Sehun’s in the mirror. They’re filled with something - pity, perhaps - and Sehun looks away.

“I have to get back,” Kyungsoo says. “Minseok, are you _sure_ \- ”

“I’m sure,” Minseok cuts him off. “Sehun’s uncle, his lackeys, and at least one servant all saw me. If I go back, I’m dead.” He runs fingers carelessly through his bright pink hair. “Even with a mask on, I’m too recognizable. I’ll stay with Sehun.”

His fingers lace with Sehun’s as he says it. And Sehun’s still not certain what’s going on, but he squeezes Minseok’s hand gratefully.

“Alright then,” Kyungsoo says. “Take care of him, got it? I’ve put way too much effort into him through the years to lose him now.” His eyes meet Sehun’s in the mirror again. “I’ll come see you when I can.”

Minseok nods, and Jongdae says a soft farewell, and then the door is opening and smog is rolling into the auto and Minseok is tugging Sehun up off the seat.

It’s nearly too smoggy to see outside, so Sehun relies on Minseok to guide him, pulling him down the side street and through a doorway.

Inside, the building is almost as dark as outside, though the air is clearer. Not _purified_ , Sehun can tell that from the hazy quality, but filtered at least, enough so that his eyes no longer sting and Minseok ceases holding his breath. It’s a common room, one with a goodly number of people in it, and despite his general dishevelment Sehun is suddenly extraordinarily aware of how much more richly dressed he is than everyone else in the room. He sticks out like a horse in a room full of dogs.

Minseok doesn’t let him linger, instead leading him right up to the desk by the door. “A room, please,” he says, polite but short. Sehun tries and fails to look inconspicuous as the man behind the desk looks him over.

They get the key, and Minseok pays, and only as the money changes hands does it hit Sehun that the clothes on his back, rich as they are, are literally the only thing Sehun has. In an instant, Sehun has become the poorest person he knows. No home, no job, no possessions, no…

No _family_.

He manages to save his face until Minseok is leading him up the stairs, rickety and worn, too narrow for them to walk up side-by-side. His fingers drag through the greasy smog build-up on the railing and he feels his eyes begin to burn, not with smog but with tears.

Minseok opens the door and guides Sehun into the room. It can’t be any bigger than the tenement rooms, a little closet of a space, smaller than Sehun’s bathroom with nothing but a bed and an empty bookcase.

With his hands on Sehun’s shoulders, Minseok turns Sehun to face him and looks up, studying his face. “Are you okay?”

In the silence that follows, Sehun _crumples_.

It begins with the burning behind his eyes and nose, the involuntary scrunch of all of his facial features. Minseok’s eyes widen, his eyebrows coming together in concern, and Sehun feels all of his skin heat as his vision blurs. He ducks his head, covering his face with his hands, only to realize too late he’s still wearing the respirator.

As if reading his mind, Minseok reaches up and unbuckles the mask, and as soon as it falls away Sehun curls forward, hiding himself in the side of Minseok’s neck as the first choking sob rips from his throat.

“Shit,” Minseok murmurs, his arms wrapping around Sehun’s back. “Come here.”

It’s only two steps backwards before they stumble onto the bed. Minseok sits, and pulls Sehun down with him, and Sehun collapses half on top of him, cheeks quickly dampening and breath heaving with sobs.

Held in Minseok’s arms, Sehun cries for a good long while. It’s the most he’s cried in over a decade, to be honest, since he was a child. Minseok is silent, still; he simply lets Sehun weep.

When his tears begin to slow, Minseok finally shifts, rolling them both over and laying Sehun out gently on his back on the bed. Sehun looks up at dark stains on the cheap plaster ceiling and quickly shuts his eyes against the reminder that he cannot go home.

“What am I going to do now?” Sehun whispers.

He doesn’t really expect Minseok to have an answer, and so he is surprised to receive a firm kiss on the lips and an equally firm, “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.”

Sehun opens his eyes to see Minseok above him instead of the stained plaster. “I’m not a pet,” he retorts in annoyance.

Minseok grins at him. “That’s it, get angry,” he encourages. “I didn’t mean forever, idiot. Just until you find your footing.” His smile fades a bit. “Everything’s going to be different now. But you’ll be okay.”

Feeling fresh tears well, Sehun turns his face away and blinks to try and clear them. “Thank you,” he murmurs. “You...you saved my life.”

Minseok presses a kiss to the side of his neck. “My pleasure,” he murmurs back. “I’m lucky I was able to get to you in time.”

Sehun tries not to shudder. “How did you know…?”

Another kiss, down at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. “Jongin,” Minseok tells him. “He happened to be looking out the window and caught a glimpse of you being taken. Didn’t even see your face, as I understand it; he recognized you by the single boot that was coming around the corner before it was yanked back again. He ran for me, I told him to contact Kyungsoo too.” Minseok works his cravat off and unbuttons his collar so he can mouth along Sehun’s collarbone. The soft heat of his lips is reassuring, and some of the tension in Sehun’s body starts to fade. “He wanted to come help, but he’s too closely watched. As it was, he risked his life to warn me. If anyone in the house noticed his absence and were to say anything to your uncle, he’d likely be killed on the spot.”

“But _why?_ ” Sehun whispers, his heart lurching painfully. “What have I done that is so terrible? I only wanted to make things better for everyone.”

Sehun feels Minseok’s lips curve into a smile against his skin. His shirt has been unfastened as far as it will go with the vest on; Minseok is peppering his upper chest with kisses as his fingers begin on the vest closures.

“I forget, sometimes, how young you are,” Minseok murmurs. “Barely more than a boy, really.”

Cupping the back of Minseok’s head in his hand, Sehun lets his eyes fall shut once more. “I am a perfectly capable adult,” he mutters. It comes out a little pouty, which is probably not helping his case.

“Of course,” Minseok agrees. “But you’re naive, all the same. There’s a lot you’ve never had to experience.” A soft sigh puffs against Sehun’s solar plexus. He’s almost entirely deshirted, now. “I’m sorry it had to be this way, though. As awakenings go, this was a rough one.”

Sehun’s fingers curl in Minseok’s soft hair. “He didn’t even seem angry,” he mumbles. “He didn’t seem to care at all. Like murdering his only nephew was nothing but a chore, a business transaction.”

“That,” Minseok says, “is precisely what it was.” He sits back enough to tug Sehun’s now-opened shirt and waistcoat off his shoulders, pulling them out from under him. Sehun can feel the cool swirls of the partially filtered haze against his skin, and shivers. “You had become a liability, a threat to his way of life. Moreover, because you and he are family, your actions reflect upon him. If what you were doing had become widely known, it’s entirely possible that some other Executive class family would have had you _both_ murdered, and perhaps your parents as well. A statement to the lower classes, and a warning to your own.”

Sehun’s torn between furrowing his brow in confusion and arching into the soft kisses raining onto his skin. “That makes utterly no sense whatsoever.”

“It makes no sense to you because for some reason you expect people to be decent at the core,” Minseok mumbles. “I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you that some people are long rotted away inside. By greed, or by fear, or by lust for power.” He presses a long, soft, wet kiss to the skin right below Sehun’s navel, just above his belt buckle. A gentle wave of arousal sweeps up Sehun’s body, far removed from the usual sharp hammer of lust. It sweeps away some of Sehun’s lingering tears and settles like a sigh inside his skin. “It’s a disease that seems to worsen the richer and higher-status a person becomes.”

“He could have just taken the factory back from me,” Sehun mumbles. Minseok’s mouth is migrating to his side, now, a line of wet kisses and sharp, toothy nips pressed up his side in tiny increments. He hits a ticklish spot and Sehun twitches. “He didn’t have to attempt _murder_.”

A huff of breath warms his ribs; Minseok’s laughing at him. “I guarantee you his thought was that if he humiliated you like that and did _not_ kill you, you would become a threat to _him_.” Sehun opens his eyes and sees Minseok looking up at him fondly. “I’m _trying_ to distract you, you know,” Minseok murmurs. “Clearly, it’s not working.”

Sehun smiles at him. It’s fainter than his usual heartstopping standards, but it’s a smile, so that’s progress. Minseok smiles in return, raising eyebrows in question.

“Try harder,” Sehun challenges softly. 

Minseok grins at him, and suddenly Sehun wonders if the challenge was a mistake. But that's how they've always been, and true to pattern Minseok meets his challenge head-on.

He leans over just enough to press his mouth to Sehun's shoulder, open and wet and hot. Sehun sighs, closing his eyes and letting his head drop as Minseok trails his lips in excruciatingly miniscule increments down Sehun's arm, tracing out all of the lines, the veins, the arches and dips in one small area before coming down to Sehun's elbow. There, he digs in his teeth, worrying at the curve of Sehun's bicep, at the sensitive skin at the inside of his elbow. Sehun gasps softly, his arm twitching, but Minseok wraps a hand around his wrist and holds him still.

A hot tongue presses flat to the stinging skin, soothing it. Minseok continues downward, tracing now not just with his lips but his teeth, his tongue. The outside of Sehun's forearm feels delightfully sensitive, but the inside much more so, to ticklishness, nearly to pain. Minseok reaches Sehun's wrist and digs his teeth in bluntly and Sehun gasps and bucks, but his arm is held too tightly to get away, forcing him to feel each dent pushed into his skin.

"Min," Sehun gasps softly, and Minseok hums against his skin. He switches his grip, lifting Sehun's hand into the air, and lays a line of soft kisses from his wrist up his palm, dozens of them. By the time he's reached the tip of Sehun's middle finger, Sehun is gasping softly, his head lolling to the side as Minseok laves the very tip with a tiny kittenlick. 

Turning Sehun's hand within his own, Minseok lays the side of Sehun's pointer finger gently between his parted lips and drags them up the length. It's such a bare touch, but it sends tiny bolts of electricity up Sehun's wrist, and forces equally tiny noises from his mouth.

"You have beautiful hands," Minseok murmurs softly, his mouth still pressed to Sehun's skin so every little movement is acutely felt. "They look equally lovely holding a pen or a tool as they do pumping into your body or wrapped around my cock."

Sehun smiles, but he doesn't open his eyes. He's enjoying the sensation too much. "Thank you," he replies cheekily. "I'm glad you like them."

"I do," Minseok says. "I like many of your parts."

Hmm, that sounds promising. "Which parts do you like?" Sehun asks, curious.

"Well," Minseok murmurs, "This one is one of my favorites." Sehun feels his weight shift, and then there are lips again on the soft skin of his flat belly, licking and nipping. Gasping, Sehun squirms, but as before he is held. "You are so extraordinarily long and thin, it's fascinating. I could spend hours staring at you." A smile, felt rather than seen. "I _have_ spent hours staring at you."

"Hah," Sehun says. "I thought maybe you had." His hands, now freed, reach up to bury in Minseok's hair as Minseok begins gently working on his belt. "Tell me truthfully - when did you realize I was watching you? Was it that first time you let me know you knew, or was it before that?"

"Before," Minseok confirms. "I figured it out a few days before. You were always there, but I couldn't figure out _why_ you would want to watch me. Not at first." The belt comes undone, and Minseok pulls it from Sehun's belt loops with slow care, sliding the leather away. "I thought it was...I don't even know. A distraction, I suppose. Curiosity. I admit, that first time, I thought catching me wanking would embarrass you, deter you from looking again."

Sehun laughs. "I apologize," he says. "I am difficult to embarrass."

"Yes, I know that now," Minseok says wryly. His hands stroke down Sehun's thighs once before returning to begin on his fly, and it's a measure of how much Sehun has come to trust him that Sehun lets him do so."I admit, I was extraordinarily shocked when you pushed the curtain aside. It hadn't occurred to me that you might have an _ulterior motive._ "

"I think that either means you are more naive than you look, or you are too unaware of your own attractiveness," Sehun mutters as Minseok gets his fly open. Hands urge his hips to lift, and Sehun obliges, raising enough that Minseok can tug his trousers down his legs. He leaves the underclothes where they are, which Sehun is a bit confused by, but not saddened. He is enjoying the soft slowness right now.

Heat leaves Sehun's body as Minseok moves away, working the trousers off his feet and taking his stockings with them as well. Calloused fingers encircling his ankle is the only warning Sehun gets before a wet touch to the ball of one foot has him jerking and squealing softly. 

"Hold still," Minseok scolds. Sehun lets out a shaky breath and attempts to do as he is told, but it is difficult when Minseok is giving his foot the same treatment as his fingers, peppering it with tiny kisses that feel like the most ticklish of heavens. There's one right in the center of his arch that's too toothy, and Sehun gasps and manages to not kick Minseok in the face.

"Why must you -" he moans, his head thrashing to the side as Minseok lays a similar sharp kiss to the inside of his ankle. "Ahh, that feels - "

"So noisy," Minseok murmurs, but he lets Sehun's foot be, starting up his leg. "Speaking of parts I adore," he mumbles into Sehun's skin.

Sehun huffs a laugh. "My feet?"

"Your legs," Minseok corrects. "Your impossibly long legs that spread so easily, wrap around me so invitingly. I am very fond of them." He presses a kiss to the inside of Sehun's knee, then turns his head and lays a matching kiss on the other. His hands follow where his mouth just was, stroking up Sehun's shins and stopping right above the knees to squeeze. 

More lovely little kisses trail up the insides of Sehun's thighs, right and then left, back and forth and moving steadily upwards. A sound like a sob escapes Sehun's throat, and his legs fall open exactly as easily as Minseok had just said. Honestly, for Minseok Sehun is pretty much just easy in every way; he's so enamored he cannot bring himself to be anything else.

Sehun is mentally prepared for Minseok to remove the underclothes and give Sehun's softly bulging cock the same treatment, but Minseok lays one last sweet kiss to the highest point on the inside of Sehun's thigh and stops, resting his head on Sehun's skin. "Are you distracted?" he asks.

Oh. The words make Sehun's situation come back to him. "I...I am calmer, yes," Sehun murmurs. "Thank you."

Minseok crawls over him, and Sehun opens his eyes just in time to see Minseok descend to steal a proper kiss. "You have had a terrible day," Minseok says when he pulls away. "And tomorrow will be challenging. You should get some rest, while your mind is still calm."

Sehun's brows furrow. "You are not...Are you leaving me?"

Strong arms wrap around his shoulders, and Minseok curls against his side, his hair tickling Sehun's chin. "No," he assures Sehun. "Not tonight, and not ever. Not unless you ask me to go."

A terrible lump blooms in Sehun's throat. "Thank you," he murmurs, burying his face in Minseok's hair. "Thank you."

 

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

 

Sehun’s sleep that night is fitful, and only because of Minseok’s weight on top of him, under him, beside him does he manage to fall back asleep each time he starts awake. 

He finally comes fully awake when the dim light of sunrise is beginning to filter through the single dirty window. The room is smaller and dirtier and more depressing in the light of day, and Sehun is struck hard by the thought that Jongin will not be bringing him breakfast this morning. In fact, he may never see Jongin again.

It wells fresh tears in his eyes, but he blinks them away, and wiggles back into Minseok’s warmth behind him for comfort. Judging by the slow heaviness of his breath, Minseok is still fast asleep.

But Sehun is not accustomed to laying about once he is awake, so even though he has nowhere to go, he soon slides from Minseok’s arms and finds his clothes. Well, to be precise, he wears his own trousers, but it’s Minseok’s shirt he slips over his head, a little short in the arms but otherwise fitting him surprisingly well. He rolls up the sleeves and tucks in the tails, and hopes the roughness of the shirt will disguise the high quality of his trousers and boots. 

After a moment, he takes Minseok’s simple amber cotton neck kerchief as well, and ties it into his collar. Then he pulls just a few notes from his wallet and quietly leaves the room.

Despite the early hour, the downstairs commons is bustling with activity, workers scattered all about the tables and couches, eating and talking. The haze of the partially filtered smog is less stifling in the daylight, even almost _pretty_ as it swirls in the weak beams coming through the high, narrow windows. 

No one pays him much mind as he makes his way across the room, which is something of a relief. He slips in at the end of a line of people and finds himself facing down a sizeable buffet. Only when the smell of the food hits him does he realize how _very_ hungry he is - he has not eaten since breakfast the day before.

The food is simple and not very well-made, but there is an awful lot of it, and Sehun fills a plate and pays at the end of the line. It’s more expensive than he had expected for the quality, and he nearly does not have enough on him, but putting a single pastry back fixes that issue and Sehun takes his food to an armchair in the corner, musing that he is going to have to be very careful with his money going forward. He basically only has what was in his wallet; he’s not stupid enough to think he will be able to access his bank accounts now.

Sehun eats and watches the room. He is certain that his status is given away even by little things like his posture and his pronunciation, so he pays close attention to the workers around him, trying to determine what he may need to change in order to blend in.

Caught up in this, Sehun does not notice anyone coming towards him until two very large men seat themselves unceremoniously on either arm of Sehun’s chair, looming over him and caging him in. Startled, Sehun nearly upends his plate, his heart rabbiting.

Big hands steady him, one on his shoulder and one on his plate. “Whoa there, friend,” a deep voice murmurs in amusement. 

Sehun looks up, taking in the faces of both men. One is wide-eyed and has a big, almost demented smile; the other is wearing a quietly amused look under quirked eyebrows thicker than Sehun’s thumb. Both are at least as tall as Sehun is, perhaps taller, broad-shouldered and imposing.

“You’re new, are you not?” the wide-eyed man asks. His knee is jiggling with contained energy, and it vibrates the chair. “I’m Chanyeol, and this is Kris.”

“Sehun,” Sehun responds, and immediately wishes he hadn’t. He should have come up with a pseudonym, but it’s too late now. It’s probably fine, honestly; it’s not as if his first name would be known to the general masses. 

Except that the two men exchange a glance over his head. “Not Minseok’s Sehun?” Kris asks him, his voice nearly as deep as Chanyeol’s and filled with the rasp of someone who has spent their life breathing smog.

Sehun blinks. “Am I a possession, now?” he retorts, before he thinks the better of it. His mouth is _really_ running without his mind this morning.

But both men laugh, and Sehun relaxes just a little bit. “The way he talks about you, it seems that way,” Chanyeol tells him. Then, his smile fades. “But this is not a place for someone like you,” he points out, his volume dropping to a bare murmur. “What are you doing here?”

And now, Sehun is faced with a dilemma. How much does he say? Just because these men know of Minseok does not necessarily make them friends, and that they seem to at least have an idea of who Sehun is and where he comes from makes them dangerous.

In the end, he simply explains, “Minseok brought me here. He’s upstairs.”

“Which explains why you’re wearing his clothes,” Kris says archly. He reaches out and brushes long fingers against the amber neck kerchief at Sehun’s throat, and Sehun abruptly realizes that Kris has one the _exact same color_ tied around his wrist. Glancing to his other side, he notices Chanyeol is also wearing one, tied around his upper arm at the juncture between shoulder and bicep.

His eyes widen when he realizes he’s seen these kerchiefs before, a number of times. Not only on Minseok, but on Jongdae, Yixing, other workers on the factory floor. Even Jongin - even _Kyungsoo. We even have similar tastes_ , Kyungsoo had said to Jongin, and he’d been pointing right at the amber, and by all the stars of the night, Sehun was an _idiot_.

Sehun looks Kris straight in the eye. “It seems that what Minseok has is now all I have, as well,” he says.

Chanyeol and Kris exchange another look over his head. “That’s interesting,” Kris says. “Minseok barely had enough for himself, let alone you.”

Damn. Sehun deflates, rubbing at his face. “I’m aware of that,” he mutters into his hand. “I’m just not certain what to do about it.”

Kris’s eyes seem to bore into him, judging him. Sehun is too tired to attempt to look worthy of judgement. “Am I to assume your... _position_ has been compromised?”

Sehun snorts. “At gunpoint, yes.”

Chanyeol makes a surprised noise. Kris’s eyes narrow. “Then before anything else, you need employment,” he murmurs. “If you’re not afraid of a hard day’s work, I’d be willing to give you a chance.”

Staring in shock, Sehun blurts out, “Why? You don’t know me.”

A quirk of a smile. “No, but I know Minseok. He would not have brought you here if he didn’t both trust you and see no other option. I am foreman of a steel mill, and we always need hands. It’s heavy work, but it pays daily, and you look hearty enough for an exec.” He cocks his head. “Former exec.”

It sounds rather hellish to Sehun, who is used to production, not milling, but at this point he sees little choice. His wallet will last a few days, at most. “Where and when?” he asks.

“Day shift begins in two bells. If you’re in, meet us back here in one, and we’ll get you there. Dress to get dirty.”

Sehun blinks. “I don’t have anything but what I came in, and neither does Minseok.”

Another look passed over his head. Sehun’s starting to get quite irritated with those. “I can lend you something until you get paid,” Chanyeol offers. “You seem like you’re about my size.”

Sehun meets his eyes. “Thank you,” he says, sincerely. “It’s a kindness I will remember.”

Chanyeol grins at him. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

 

In the end, both Sehun _and_ Minseok take Kris up on his offer, Sehun in old, slightly too-large clothes borrowed from Chanyeol and a beat-up, cheap respirator borrowed from Kris. The mill is exactly as hellish as Sehun had imagined, darker, hotter and grimier even than his uncle’s factory had been before he took over, and though Kris himself never once raises a hand or his voice at a worker, he is not the only foreman on the floor.

Though his eyes burn and his mind is numb with the pain and the indignity of the work, Sehun does what he can to keep it from overwhelming him, determined to prove that he is not the spoiled porcelain lordling everyone will expect. He quickly finds his distraction in watching the dynamics of the people around him, particularly when the foremen’s backs are turned.

There is amber _everywhere_. The color is a muted one, and not uncommon in general, as it is the country’s national color, but still, Sehun can’t help but notice that more than half of the workers have an amber kerchief somewhere on their person. Minseok, working further on down the line, keeps his prominently displayed at his throat, and as a result he is approached by another worker at least three times as often as Sehun is, despite that they are both new.

At break time, when the machines grind to a halt and the sudden absence of loud grinding is filled by ringing in Sehun’s ears, Sehun stretches out his aching shoulders and arms and watches silently as a group of workers congregate curiously around Minseok. It’s interesting to watch him making friends and gaining trust; he does it very easily. 

Minseok seeks out his gaze and beckons him forward, but before Sehun can move, a hand on his shoulder stops him.

“Sehun,” Kris says, his face carefully blank. “I’ve heard a rumor you have experience with machining parts.”

Sehun arches an eyebrow. “I built a pocketwatch from scrap at the age of twelve,” he murmurs. It hadn’t kept time, but he doesn’t divulge that.

Kris’s lip twitches. “Excellent. I have a new position for you.” He leads Sehun away.

The machining area is louder than the forging area, but it’s slightly less hot, and the work, though still backbreaking, is much more of the hunched-over eye-strain type than the slinging-raw-iron type. (Honestly, he understands now why Chanyeol and Kris have such broad shoulders, such deep chests. He's been at it only a few hours and his entire body is screaming.) Again, it is not difficult or complex work, but it does require him to concentrate, and the rest of the shift is lost in the repetitive haze. 

When the whistle blows, Sehun straightens up, and his spine crackles like a bundle of twigs run over by a coach. He hisses out loud at the pain, rolling out his shoulders and grimacing. 

The big hand that claps down on his shoulder is quickly becoming familiar. Sehun is unsurprised to see Kris leaning over him.

"Not bad for your first day," he murmurs. "Payment officer is right inside the doors. Be prepared to wait in line."

Kris is not joking in the slightest, as Sehun quickly finds out. The line is all the way from the doors to the production floor. Sehun does not see Minseok, so he simply gets in line and waits.

It's more than a full bell since the last whistle before Sehun reaches the extraordinarily bored-and-annoyed looking payment officer.

"Name," the man says, and Sehun nearly has a panic attack. Was his real name used to sign in? He has no idea, because Kris signed in for both him and Minseok. 

He doesn't have any other choice though, so he quickly stutters out, "Oh Sehun," and holds his breath while the man digs through the file. To his relief, his name is in there, because if he'd just done ten bells worth of the most painful and boring work of his life and did not get paid for it, he would likely jump off a roof.

He takes the envelope handed to him and leaves in a rush, all too aware of the river of people behind him who still need to get their payment. Outside, he finds Chanyeol and Minseok waiting for him, and it is all he can do not to crawl into Minseok's arms and beg to be carried home.

"How was it?" Chanyeol asks, looking not in the least bit sweaty or exhausted. Sehun kind of hates him.

"I smell like the back end of a coach," Sehun snaps back. 

Minseok grins at him. "At least you don't smell like the back end of a _horse_ ," he quips, and Chanyeol guffaws. Sehun pouts, and Minseok smiles, unseen behind his respirator but for the crinkle of his eyes. "Let's get you home."

Home. Where is home, anymore? Not his childhood home, and certainly not the factory compound. Is home now the tiny room in the workman's lodge?

Minseok looks back over his shoulder. "Come on, kid, I'm starving."

Sehun shakes himself out of his thoughts and starts forward on weary legs. Why is he even questioning this? He knows where his home is, now.

Home is where Minseok is.

 

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

 

That night, they take dinner with Chanyeol and Kris, and Sehun learns a little more about the two of them. That Chanyeol's family died in a building fire when he was a child, and Kris's family took him in; that they'd grown up brothers and never wanted to go anywhere without each other. Once they loosened up a little, Sehun got the dubious joy of watching them taunt and tease each other, and wondered, not for the first time, what it would be like to have a sibling.

"You know," he murmurs to Minseok while the taller two are sniping about something insignificant, "you never talk about your family. Do you have siblings?"

Minseok's smile is guarded. "I do, actually. Several." He shrugged. "We're quite far apart in age, so we were never close. I don't even know where they are, anymore."

Sehun cocked his head. "Are they living outside the city, then?"

A snort. "Outside this _country_ , if they have any sense."

Sehun isn't really certain what to say about that, and Minseok doesn't offer more. But it sticks in his mind, and throughout dinner, he realizes that though he knows very well who Minseok is, he knows all but _nothing_ about the man's past.

And it's not just that, either. It's not just that Sehun doesn't know if Minseok's parents are living, or if he has siblings, or if he grew up in the city. It's also that he doesn't know what Minseok _wants_ , what he _believes_ in...what he sees in his own _future_. 

Though he's been watching, today, and those amber kerchiefs are starting to give him an idea. Because - as he looks around the commons - they are all but ubiquitous. Nearly everyone in the room has one.

Later that night, when they are again alone in their dim little room, Sehun finally brings it up. "So I guess I should get one of these," he says, tugging on Minseok's neck kerchief. "Seems like everyone has one."

He watches Minseok’s expression close off and suddenly, fierce frustration wells up within him, drowning out all else. “No, don’t you dare. My own blood tried to murder me, I deserve answers. There is something going on here, isn’t there? More than what I’ve seen.”

“Perhaps,” Minseok hedges.

“Min, _tell me_.”

Dark eyes narrow. “Should I, though?” Minseok asks, his tone suddenly sharp. “There’s no reneging if I do. You’d be separating yourself from your family, your class, forever.”

“I have no family,” Sehun snaps back. “My uncle made that abundantly clear.”

“But your parents?” Minseok asks. “They had nothing to do with it, in theory. Could you turn your back on them as well?”

“My Umma is dead,” Sehun points out. “And Mother does not associate much with anyone, her own class included.” His voice softens. “I would never hurt her, but as it stands it seems I may not ever see her again anyway. I am not certain it will matter, in the end. The only other person in my own class I care about is Kyungsoo, and whatever this is, he’s already in it, isn’t he?”

Minseok quirks a smile. “Perceptive and stubborn. I should have known.” He cocks his head. “If you’re sure.”

Sehun nods. “I’m sure. Whatever this is, whatever you're...you're doing. I'm with you now.”

Minseok's smile softens. "You might regret that," he murmurs, and Sehun shakes his head.

"I doubt it."

So Minseok tells him.

And Sehun lets out all his air in one long breath.

Revolution. It's a _revolution_ , built from the very dregs of society upwards and aiming at overthrowing everything that their culture is - the class structure, the preference of technology over magic, the atheism, the government.

"Not _everything_ the culture is," Minseok says wryly. "There are some principles that are good, as you said back when we first spoke on the subject. But there is much corruption, too. The stratification of the classes is designed to lift a lucky few up on the broken backs of the masses, and it isn't right."

Sehun shakes his head. "Is _revolution_ necessary, though?" he wonders aloud. 

The look Minseok gives him makes him feel rather young and stupid. "How can you even question that, after what happened to you?" he asks. "You _lived_ it. If what you were doing - trying to make the factory a fair place to work, treating the workers like they were worth something - if that had been allowed to continue, had caught on, if more people in your position were like that, _then_ maybe revolution wouldn't be necessary. But it _is_ necessary, because do you know _why_ there aren't any people like you in positions of power?" he growls. " _Because they get murdered_."

Fuck. Sehun doesn't want to believe it, but put like that, it does seem terribly obvious. His own uncle - his own _flesh and blood_ \- had attempted to kill him simply because Sehun was a threat to his power, his control. Minseok is right. Power corrupts, and Sehun would rather suffer a thousand days of backbreaking milling work than live comfortably and someday become _that_.

And now, the attitudes of his old management staff, the anger, the fear of the workers gathering, earning money, being healthy and strong, all of it makes sense. After all, it seems they have something to be afraid _of_.

Minseok is watching him, looking for a reaction. "Well?" he asks, after a letting Sehun absorb this. "Are you still in?"

Sehun squares his sore shoulders and looks Minseok in the eye. "I'm with you," he says. "Always."

"Good," Minseok says fiercely. "Because I am laying everything on the line that you won't betray me."

 

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

 

The next few days fall into something of a routine. Sehun does get some clothes of his own, and a respirator slightly less terrible than the borrowed one. He becomes familiar with his position at the mill and quickly figures out ways to boost his production, earning him more money, since they are paid by the piece.

Moreover, though, he begins wearing the amber kerchief, choosing to keep his poking subtly out of his back pocket. Minseok growls at him and tells him he's purposely drawing attention to his ass, which is not _entirely_ fair, but might possibly be kind of true. Sehun does, in fact, have a nice ass, and since his position no longer necessitates tailcoats he's planning to show it off at every opportunity.

He has to take his joy where he can, these days.

It's the night before the rest day, the first one since Sehun was so rudely deposed, and after a round of desperate sex with the distracting orange kerchief stuffed in Sehun's mouth to muffle his screams, Minseok cuddles him and murmurs that if he is ready for it, there's a meeting happening the next afternoon.

It takes Sehun a beat or two too long to figure out to what he's referring. Then, he pushes himself up on an elbow, staring down at Minseok in the dim candlelight.

"A meeting for what?" Sehun asks. "What are we meeting about?"

Minseok smiles. "Listen to you. 'What are we meeting about.'" He shakes his head. "You're coming in on this very late in the game, I'm afraid. There's a lot to explain."

Sehun pokes him in the side. "So explain!"

Tugging him back down, Minseok pulls Sehun in close and strokes his hair while he tells them about their plan of attack. "Nothing is set in stone yet," he whispers softly into the darkness. "All we have so far is a general idea of how the attack will go. We need to make a statement, and it has to be firm enough that the Assembly will listen to our demands." His thumb runs over Sehun's cheek, tracing out his bone structure. "But there's no need to hurt people, not yet, not until they are physically and actively standing in our way. So we're going for property, instead."

Sehun frowns. "Hightown?" he asks. "The mansions?" If so, he'll need to get his mother out, somehow. 

"No, no. If we hit their homes, they will just build new ones, and force the working class to do the work for them. No, we're planning to hit them in their pocketbooks."

Oh, of course. "The factories," Sehun murmurs. "The mills and the other facilities." 

A nod. "We're going to take down several at once, enough to show that we can do it to anyone. Then, we make our demands, and if they are not met, we take down the factories owned by the Magistrates." He breathes out a long sigh. "It will be hard on the workers, to lose their jobs. But there's a part of the resistance working on providing for them and their families in the interim, and why should they work for so little while a few become rich off their labor?”

Sehun bites his lip. "A few like me, you mean," he says. "Will I even be welcome?"

"Probably not by all, at least not at first," Minseok acquiesces. "But I have faith you'll win them over." He smiles. "You did so with me."

Sehun smiles back and kisses him, but his apprehension stays.

 

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

 

The next afternoon, Minseok leads Sehun through the city, to a tiny bookshop in one of the poorer market districts. The owner raises a hand in greeting to Minseok and gives Sehun an appraising once-over, but he doesn't say a word to them as Minseok leads Sehun through the stacks and to a small back room marked _Staff Only_. There's a bookshelf in the room on which sits a small clockwork owl toy, very much like something Sehun would have been assigned to make in his childhood studies. Minseok lifts the owl's right wing, and there is a click like a latch, and then he is able to push the bookshelf inward, revealing a staircase.

By halfway down the stairs, Sehun can hear voices. By the time he reaches the foot of the stairs, he recognizes some of them, and as Minseok opens the door at the foot of the stairs, Sehun is filled with anticipation.

A bright, familiar heart-shaped smile greets them as they enter. "You made it," Kyungsoo says, coming out from around the large, heavy table and weaving between the people to get to them. Sehun opens his arms and Kyungsoo steps into them, embracing him. 

He's small and warm and smells familiar, and Sehun lets out a long sigh into his hair. The past week has been so different from anything he'd ever known before, this little bit of familiarity all but brings tears to his eyes.

"After this," Kyungsoo murmurs into Sehun's shoulder, "we must catch up. I need to know how you've been faring." His arms tighten. "You're skinnier. I didn't think it was possible for you to be skinnier than you already were. Minseok, are you not feeding him?"

Minseok doesn't answer, preoccupied with hugging Jongdae a few lengths away. Kyungsoo pulls back, his eyes suspiciously bright, and cups Sehun's cheeks in his hands briefly before stepping away.

Only when he moves away does Sehun see Jongin like a shadow behind him. His former servant looks different, not dressed in his stiff black and white uniform, and the amber kerchief around his wrist is very prominent. Sehun beckons to him, and with a soft smile Jongin comes forward, bowing his head like he always did.

"Don't," Sehun murmurs, his voice rough. "Come here." He reaches, and with some hesitation Jongin steps closer, letting Sehun pull him in. "I hear I owe you my life," Sehun murmurs into Jongin's hair. "Thank you."

Cautiously, Jongin's arms come up, resting lightly on his back. "You would have done the same for me, sir," he whispers. "I'm just glad you're safe."

Sehun pulls him closer, some small part of his brain musing how odd it is that he's never actually touched Jongin before, let alone held him like this. He saw the man several times a day for months - but now, they are equals.

"I'm not 'sir' anymore," Sehun says. "Call me Sehun."

Jongin pulls back and looks at his face. "Sehun," he says, as if trying it out.

Sehun smiles. "I hope I can repay you someday."

Jongin smiles back at him, his hands trailing against Sehun's shirt as he pulls away. Kyungsoo reaches for him and Jongin steps into his embrace. They fit well together, Sehun notes.

The door opens behind them, and Sehun turns to see Kris and Chanyeol entering. "Is everyone here?" Kris asks, as Chanyeol closes the door and bolts it. 

"You're the last ones," Minseok agrees. 

"Lovely. Let's get this started."

They gather around the large table. There's about a dozen people, but Minseok had said the majority of resistance groups all over the city merely sent a representative or two; too many people would attract too much attention.

Kris begins by introducing Sehun to those whom he did not yet know. The introduction is met with guarded skepticism, but Sehun expects no less, and at least no one actively calls him a rump-humper this time.

"Alright, down to business," Kris finally says. "Did you get them, Amber?"

The woman, Amber, short-haired and mischievous-looking, hefts a canvas bag onto the table. Inside are half a dozen large rolls of parchment, tied in twine.

As various people around the table unroll the scrolls, Minseok leans over to Sehun. "Amber works at the city records office," he explains in a murmur. Sehun nods, seeing why it is relevant in the next moment when the parchments are laid out and weighted down. They’re building plans.

"These are our targets," Kris says. "Now, we have to figure out how we're bringing them down."

"Without killing anyone," Minseok points out. "Or doing damage to any building housing a worker."

Kris glances at him. "Right, hence the challenge." He pulls one plan to the middle and turns it around to face the other side of the table. "We'll start here. Jongdae?"

As Jongdae - and everyone else - is looking over the plan in question, Sehun quickly peruses the titles to get an idea of the targets. The one in the center is the steel mill where he is currently employed. Also on the table are a furniture plant, an auto coach assembly, a big-name fashion house, and two goods assembly factories - one of which is Sehun's former.

None of the targets produce anything essential, Sehun notes. No food processing plants, no respirator assemblies, no utilities. It is all luxury goods, all goods that will be purchased by the upper classes or exported to other countries. Even the steel mill, Sehun can see the reasoning - all of the parts he has machined were for auto coaches, pendulum clocks, oculars, and the like. Products that would not be missed in a new era.

"Well," Jongdae says, breaking the silence around the table, "these are your load-bearing walls, here, here and here." He makes some sweeping gestures at the blueprints. "And here, these are the support structures on the inside. Bring those down, and you'll bring the building down."

Chanyeol leans over his shoulder. "How many will have to be knocked down to destroy the place?"

Jongdae blinks up at him. "That depends on the size of the explosion."

Without hesitation, Chanyeol traces a circle on the blueprint with a finger, about the size of Sehun's palm. "This big."

Sehun can't help it, he raises an eyebrow. "How do you know that?"

Glancing up, Chanyeol grins, but his eyes are guarded. "They're my explosions," he replies.

His eyes narrowing, Sehun says, "What does _that_ mean?"

Everyone around the table shifts uneasily. Chanyeol looks to Kris, who shrugs and looks to Minseok. 

"Minseok," Sehun murmurs, "what aren't you telling me?"

Minseok looks back at Chanyeol. "Show him," he says. "He should know."

Chanyeol purses his lips, wary, but he holds out one hand, cupped, with his long fingers pointed to the ceiling.

A gout of flame leaps to life in his _bare hand_ and Sehun jumps back and swears, his eyes wide. "How the _fuck_ \- "

Silence. No one else seems surprised, and everyone is watching him, hard eyes and held breath, and that's when Sehun realizes.

"You're a mage," he accuses.

Chanyeol's grin is not at all happy. "Quick one, you are." He closes his hand, and the fire goes out, leaving behind the slightly acrid smell of burnt smog. "Is that a problem?"

Sehun crosses his arms over his chest. "Depends. Do you know what you're doing? Do you have it under control? Because I've seen what happens when ruby mages get angry." The memories of screaming and the smell of sizzling flesh flit through his mind. "It's not pretty."

Chanyeol's not-happy grin goes sharp and toothy and dangerous. "Then don't make me angry," he counters.

Sehun stiffens. Minseok puts a hand on his shoulder, just as Kris murmurs, "Yeol," and puts his own on Chanyeol's. He looks to Sehun. "Despite his posturing, he does have it under control, trust me. If he didn't I wouldn't be standing here."

Blowing out a breath and forcing his posture to relax, Sehun says, "Then we don't have a problem." It's half of a lie, because _Sehun_ has a problem, he has a _big_ problem, but he recognizes that here and now is not the place nor the time. He's the newcomer here, the stranger; if he fights this, not only will he be kicked out, but it would humiliate Minseok, who backed him.

But it's what people want to hear, and around the table shoulders unstiffen, expressions smooth. Chanyeol's still eyeing him, but most everyone else has returned their attention to Jongdae, tracing over the blueprints with his fingers and muttering to himself.

"With blasts that size," he says finally, "I think we can do this with six. Two on each of the north and south faces, and one on each of these two columns in the center." He points. "That should be enough that the upper level will collapse into the lower level, destroying the equipment." Looking up at Chanyeol, he says, "Kris said the forgefire burns all night long, so it doesn't have to be re-lit every day. Would it be better to leave the forge hot, or somehow get it cool beforehand?"

Chanyeol purses his lips thoughtfully. "As hot as the forge runs, better to draw the heat away, I think. I'll set up the runes to draw the power directly from the forge - that'll spread out the heat, and saves me some power, too."

Sehun huffs out a small breath through his nose. Perhaps Chanyeol knows what he's about, after all.

"Can you time the blasts?" he asks suddenly, a thought occurring to him.

Chanyeol blinks at him. "Sure. Why?"

Sehun steps forward. Jongdae obligingly moves to the side, letting him close enough to reach out to the drawing. "These ones in the middle, you should set them off well before the other four," he says. "At least...ten seconds? Enough time for gravity to start caving the upper floor in." He makes a gesture above the center of the drawing, pulling his hand down and his fingers in. "So that everything collapses towards the center. Less risk of damage to the buildings around the mill, like tenements."

"Oh," Jongdae murmurs, cocking his head thoughtfully. "Yes, of course. I should have thought of that."

Kris comes over with a stick of chalk. "So these two first," he says, marking them, "and then these four, here, here, here and here. All runes written especially to pull power from the nearest source of heat." He looks up. "Do we have a plan?"

One by one, the people around the table nod, and Sehun does too. 

"Lovely," Kris says briskly, pulling the marked print off the table and laying another in its place with a flourish. "Next."


	6. Chapter 6

“You don’t have to come with us,” Minseok mutters yet again.

“ _I’m coming with you,_ ” Sehun shoots back, exasperated. “What is the point of me wearing amber if I don’t help out?”

Minseok’s lips purse. “It’s putting you in danger needlessly.”

“Have they always been like this?” Chanyeol asks as he tucks a long knife into the shank of his tall boots. Sehun’s still not entirely comfortable with the tall, volatile mage, but considering what they’re about to go do, he’s glad Chanyeol is coming along, if only for the firepower.

Jongdae shrugs, in the process of arming himself similarly. “I never really got to see them together before…” He glances at Sehun. “Well. Before.”

“ _Before,_ ” Minseok growls, “Sehun would never have been in this situation.” He straps a pistol to his thigh, and Sehun takes a moment to admire how the leather wraps around the muscle. “Before, he would have been pampered, sheltered, _safe_ \- ”

“It was a lie, Minseok,” Sehun snaps. “I was living a damned lie and you know it.” Minseok looks up at him, still half-bent over with his hands on the buckles, and Sehun smiles at him tightly. “Better to know the dangerous truth then to live the poisonous lie.”

Chanyeol whistles, tinny behind his respirator. “Maybe _you_ should be the one to argue our case before the Assembly, silver-tongue.” 

Oh. Sehun straightens. “I could,” he agrees. “I _would._ ”

“For fuck’s sake, Yeol, don’t give him _ideas_.”

“No, really.” Sehun’s getting into the thought, now. “I may not be much use with a gun or a blade, but by the stars I can out-talk _anyone_. If you want me to, I will take our demands before the Assembly, and simply by nature of my birth they’d have to at least hear me.”

Minseok slaps him upside the head, making Sehun wince and pout at him. “We have to _have_ demands, first.” He glances around. “Are we ready?”

They are, and they set out, the jovial atmosphere dampened by the thick smog outside. They’re headed to one of the targets, to paint Chanyeol’s runes onto the walls in hidden places. Kris and Kyungsoo have taken care of their own places of work over the course of the past week, and other members of the revolution have done the same at theirs, but there aren’t any known revolutionaries at this one.

It’s quite a hike across the city to get to it, too, and by the time they arrive Sehun is already quite exhausted, the air pulled through his cheap respirator thick in his throat. He knows Minseok can tell by the way the older man keeps glancing at him, but he stubbornly does not complain, keeping his head up and his stride purposeful. 

They receive a few stares as they walk, but a group of men walking together is not very unusual, and neither is it particularly unusual that they be armed. At one point, a pair of city guards take an interest, keeping pace with them on the other side of the street, but Minseok mumbles _keep walking_ and within a block or two they lose interest.

They reach the target - the high-end fashion house - after it is well dark. The compound is guarded and the building is locked, and Sehun eyes the guarded gates from across the road and wonders how, exactly, they're going to get in.

"You ready, Jongdae?" Chanyeol asks. Jongdae nods, and Chanyeol grins, hidden by the mask but given away by the scrunch of his eyes. He raises a hand, whispers a word, and there's a muted _whumph_ noise. A few moments later, a golden glow begins to creep around the edge of the wall, and with it a pillar of smoke, too thick to be regular smog.

" _What did you do?_ " Sehun hisses.

Chanyeol glances at him. "One of Kris's contacts left some rubbish in a pile there earlier today," he explains softly, as the guards at the gate start to yell and point and run for the blaze. "It's surrounded by stone, it'll be fine, but it should keep them busy for a bit." The second guard disappears around the corner and Jongdae starts moving, hustling quickly across the street.

Sehun makes to follow him out of sheer habit, but Minseok holds him back with a hand on his arm. "Not yet."

Halted, Sehun watches as Jongdae kneels in front of the gate, something pulled from his pocket to be used on the door. Lockpicks?

Yes, they seem to be lockpicks, and Sehun's eyebrows hit the roof when it takes a bare half-minute for the gate to pop open and Jongdae to slip inside. Minseok's grip on him slides away, and Sehun starts forward, with Chanyeol and Minseok in step on either side of him. 

Minseok is the last one through the gate, yanking it shut and carefully re-locking it behind them. Jongdae and Chanyeol are already halfway across the compound, but splitting up was the plan, so Sehun waits for Minseok to finish.

"So," he asks softly as Minseok hurries towards him, pistol drawn in his hand. "Do we have a plan like that for getting out, too?"

Minseok's eyes are black in the dimness, unreadable. "Nope," he says. "Come on."

Chanyeol and Jongdae are responsible for placing the runes inside the building, and now Sehun sees why, sees Chanyeol holding a tiny flicker of flame out for Jongdae as he lockpicks his way into the main building, where Sehun knows there are rows upon rows of looms and sewing machines. 

Sehun and Minseok, on the other hand, are responsible for the runes on the outer walls, and they've already decided the runes would be less likely to be spotted prematurely on the outside than the inside. At the time it seemed the far safer and less terrifying option, remaining outside the building, but now that Sehun is here he wishes he and Minseok had gone inside. The walls of the compound loom around them and Sehun is all too aware that the guards will be back and patrolling as soon as they put out Chanyeol's little distraction fire.

The drawing Chanyeol handed him earlier in the night is a fairly simple spell circle, as such things go. It's also not activated, or so Chanyeol had assured him when Sehun objected to putting what essentially amounted to a magical bomb into his pack. There is one line missing, straight down the center, connecting the top of the circle to the bottom, that Sehun will need to draw into the real runes to activate them. 

"Here," Minseok mutters, pointing at a section of wall where a single, twisted, half-withered little shrub was trying valiantly to find foothold amongst the stone and brick. "Use that to disguise the rune."

Sehun kneels, carefully pushing the thorny brush aside with his shoulder to get at the wall underneath. Chanyeol had told him to place the rune between knee and waist-height, for maximum damage. Sehun finds the smoothest section of stone, uncaps the jar of red paint in his hand, and sets to work.

Years and years of precise design drawing under strict tutors and even stricter university professors have forced into Sehun a steady hand and a good eye, and copying Chanyeol's rune exactly is not particularly difficult. He does go over each section three or four times, because the roughness of the stone makes it difficult to get unbroken lines of red, and Sehun knows enough about spellwork to know that even the smallest break in the pattern will cause the spell to fail.

With a deep breath and a slow stroke, Sehun lays down the last line. As his brush connects with the edge of the circle, the entire rune pulses slightly, then darkens, soaking into the stone like blood drying before his eyes. Sehun quickly wipes his brush with a rag, caps the jar, and carefully guides the shrub back into place, disguising the rune.

"One down," he breathes.

"Good," Minseok shoots back. Sehun stands, noticing as he does that Minseok is vibrating with nervous energy again. "I hear the guards returning to their posts. Let's get moving."

 

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

 

The next two runes go fairly smoothly, and by the time the third rune is sinking into the stone, Sehun's feeling rather better about the entire thing. There's one left to go, and then they only have to figure out how to get out of the compound without being seen.

Later on, he will realize this thought was a foolish one. Nothing ever goes _that_ smoothly. And sure enough, he's halfway through the last rune when voices and footsteps have both he and Minseok stiffening in place and looking up.

"Whatever you do," Minseok hisses quickly, "whatever you _hear, do not stop_. Get it done before you’re seen or all is lost." He strides away, headed around the corner and straight for the voices.

Sehun wants to cry out, to go after him and _stop him_ but he knows Minseok is right. Everything they've done tonight - and everything the other revolutionaries have done over the past week - depends on no one seeing him painting this rune. As Minseok calls out a greeting to the guard and a deep voice responds in angry surprise, Sehun blocks it out and concentrates on laying down each line as quickly and precisely as possible.

A gunshot, and a scream, and Sehun's concentration is broken. He sucks in a breath and paints the last line, his brush dropping the moment he sees the rune pulse. Without a thought for anything else, Sehun draws the pistol from his side and races around the corner.

There's two guards. One is down, writhing on the ground with red blooming from his thigh, and Minseok is locked in blade combat with the other. They're too close for Sehun to attempt a shot, and Sehun hesitates, gauging whether he can rush the guard without getting either himself or Minseok hurt.

It's a moment of hesitation too long. Minseok's blade slips to the side, causing him to stumble, and Sehun sees the guardswoman swing but can do nothing to stop it. He watches in shocked horror as the longsword rips across Minseok's back, blood spraying in a perfect arc in the dim moonlight. With an anguished scream, Minseok falls.

Sehun cries out, his pistol raising. The guardswoman looks up, surprised, and Sehun fires.

Unlike the other guard, she's dead before she hits the ground.

"Minseok," Sehun breathes, his feet moving forward before the thud of the body even registers in his mind. "Minseok, no, _no_."

He falls to his knees. There's blood _everywhere_ , a terrifyingly nasty gash that splits Minseok from right shoulder to left hip, but Minseok is breathing, even trying to move.

"Shit," Minseok is saying, his voice sounding pained and harsh and odd. "Shit shit _shit_."

"You're alive," Sehun says, rather dumbly. He reaches for Minseok's shoulders.

To Sehun's shock, Minseok yanks himself away violently. " _Don't!_ " he chokes out, turning to look at Sehun over his shoulder. 

His eyes are impossibly bright blue, nearly _glowing_ in the moonlight, and that's when Sehun registers that something is really, really fucking _wrong_ here.

Sehun takes a step back, his eyes widening as he really _looks_ at Minseok. His hair is longer, smoother, and no longer pink; instead it's white as ash. Not only are his eyes a different color, but they're a different shape, too, outer corners slanted too far up. In fact, his entire bone structure seems to have changed.

And his ears are _pointed_.

"An elf," Sehun breathes. "You're a fucking - "

Minseok stares back at him, and despite that they are alien to him now, Sehun can read the pain and despair in those bright eyes much more easily than when they were dark. 

Fuck.

_Fuck._

"We have to get out of here," he says, leaning forward again and carefully sliding an arm under Minseok's chest to help him up. It doesn't feel at all like the same chest he's cuddled against, cried against, come against, but Sehun steadfastly ignores that. He'll break down when they're out of danger.

Minseok is silent, but this time he doesn't push Sehun away. It's difficult, getting him to his feet; Minseok is clearly in excruciating pain and his legs don't seem able to take his full weight. Sehun has _no idea_ how he's going to get Minseok all the way across the city in this state, but he knows he has to get him away from these bodies, from the dead woman and the man bleeding but still conscious next to her. Two gunshots would be enough to bring anyone running.

He's proven right seconds later when more footsteps pound around the corner at a run, and raises his pistol, knowing full well he has only three shots left. 

Fortunately, it's Chanyeol and Jongdae.

"Shit, can you two _not_ make a ruckus?" Chanyeol hisses. Jongdae's already beelining for Minseok's side, fortunately too preoccupied with examining the bleeding wound to notice the ears or the hair. Minseok keeps his head down, his eyes hidden, and mumbles something that might be thanks as Jongdae carefully lifts Minseok's arm up over his shoulders and takes some of his weight.

"How are we going to get out of here?" Sehun gasps at Chanyeol. "He's bleeding out fast."

Chanyeol strides around them and takes a look. "Stars above," he swears. "We have to stop that before anything." He takes a deep breath, and says, "Min, this is going to suck horribly. Don't scream." 

His entire forearm begins to glow, his skin seeming to crack to reveal embers beneath. Sehun realizes what he's going to do and turns his head away, automatically reaching for Minseok's hand. Minseok takes it, and as the terrible sound and smell of sizzling flesh fills the night, squeezes Sehun's hand until Sehun can feel his bones creak.

Then it's over, and Minseok collapses against his side, panting heavily. Sehun glances down at him and sees bright blue eyes filled with glistening tears, and has to look away. 

"Let's get out of here," he says grimly. 

"How?" Jongdae asks, sounding choked. Sehun glances over and sees that he's crying as well, though silently.

"I'll take care of it," Chanyeol mutters. "Get him to the gates, it might take you a bit." He strides off, looking a little bit like an avenging spirit with his arm still alight.

Chanyeol is right. It's slow going, getting Minseok to the outer walls, and Sehun is jumping at every little sound, fearful that more guards will come upon them while they're vulnerable.

Whatever distraction Chanyeol provides, though, it seems to work, because he's waiting for them at the gates, and his arm is back to looking like an arm and not like tinder.

"Get him across the street and into that alley," Chanyeol orders, pointing. "I'll disguise you. Kyungsoo's on his way."

Sehun blinked. "How did you - "

"I'll explain later, _go_." He makes a shooing motion, and as he does, the smog swirls around his hands, thickening into a visible cloud. Another gesture, and the cloud envelops them, foul-smelling and choking even through the respirator, but it does disguise them from onlookers as they cross the street and get Minseok into the alleyway.

They get to the alley, and as they pass out of sight of the street the smog clears, and Sehun sees the exact moment that Jongdae finally registers the physical changes in Minseok's form. His eyes go wide, and he takes a step back, and Sehun clearly sees the way Minseok's shaking shoulders hunch.

And he's as freaked out as Jongdae, honestly he is. But he can't _stand_ to see Minseok looking like that. As Chanyeol finally joins them in the alleyway, Sehun slides his arm around Minseok's and entwines their fingers.

Blue eyes look up at him in shock, but that fades to an almost shy kind of gratitude. Sehun flashes him a tight smile and opens his mouth to say something reassuring, but he doesn't get the chance.

"Wait, what the _fuck_ ," Chanyeol exclaims.

Minseok's grip tightens. Sehun squeezes back. "It's still me, Chanyeol," Minseok says, low and rough with pain.

His fingers alight, Chanyeol holds up his hand, illuminating Minseok's changed face and giving Sehun his first good look at Minseok's new features. Or, more likely, his _true_ features.

"Is this what you really are?" Jongdae asks, his voice shaking. "Is this what you have _always_ been?"

Minseok glances at him. "Yes."

Jongdae shakes his head, backing away another step. "You lied to me this entire time," he says, sounding horrified. "How could you?"

A long, long sigh. "Because I knew how you would react," Minseok mutters. "And here you are, proving me right."

"I can't." Jongdae's still backing away. The further he goes, the more Minseok's shoulders hunch with the rejection. "I'm sorry, I...I'll see you later." He turns on his heel and takes off, jogging around the corner and out of sight.

"Shit," Minseok whispers. He looks up at Chanyeol. "Maybe you should go after him. It's not safe out there these days."

Chanyeol eyes him. "If you want me to, I will," he murmurs. "Listen, Jongdae...he's just very...It took him a while, when he found out about me, too. But he came around." Chanyeol flashes a crooked smile. "For what it's worth, now I don't feel like the oddest duck in the flock."

Minseok snorts. "Sure. Glad I could help."

"I sent a message to Kyungsoo about ten minutes ago, so he should be here soon," Chanyeol says as he starts down the alley himself. "Be careful, you two."

He disappears, and Minseok looks up at Sehun, studying him for a moment. Sehun holds his gaze and stays silent, waiting for Minseok to ask the question that's lurking behind his eyes.

When he does, it hurts a little more than he anticipated. "Are you leaving me?"

Sehun shakes his head. "No," he replies, and Minseok practically sags in relief against his side. Sehun wraps an arm gingerly around his shoulders, careful to avoid his freshly cauterized wound. "I'm not particularly happy with you and I have dozens of questions, but I'm not going anywhere."

Minseok turns his head and rests it against Sehun's chest. "Thank you," he whispers.

They stand in silence, Sehun half-holding Minseok upright, until Kyungsoo arrives.

 

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

 

During the course of the past week, Jongin had managed to smuggle some of Sehun's possessions to Sehun, things that he rescued before Sehun's uncle had the suite cleared out for its next occupant. 

As soon as Minseok is settled on their bed, Sehun digs through the crate and says a silent word of thanks to his former manservant when his pot of elven ointment is there. The bright, herb-y smell fills the room, and Minseok looks up sharply.

Sehun holds it up and smiles at him. "I guess I know now how you were able to recognize it from smell alone," he says. It wins him a shade of a smile, which Sehun is relieved to see looks the same, elf or no.

Carefully, Sehun helps Minseok to remove his shirt. There's a distinct difference in his build now, in his bone structure and his skin tone, but his scars are all still the same, which Sehun finds more comforting than he really should. He climbs on the bed behind Minseok to salve his wound, and stops.

"By the stars," he mutters. "I'm an _idiot_."

Minseok tries to glance back over his shoulder and winces when his wound pulls. "Are you?"

"Your tattoo." Now that he's looking at it again, it's so obvious he wants to bang his head into a wall. "It's a spell circle." 

"Oh." A hoarse chuckle. "Yes. Frankly I was surprised you didn't already figure that out."

"I know very little about magical theory and runewriting," Sehun murmurs, tracing the lines with his finger. "It didn't even occur to me to look closer." He pulls his hand away before it contacts with the fresh wound. "The cut broke the circle and ended the spell, and you changed back. Back to what you really are."

Minseok was silent. Sehun dipped his fingers in the salve and very carefully began smoothing it onto the wound, as gently as he knew how.

"I came to this country fourteen years ago," Minseok says finally. "A hired guard on a trade ship from my home on the Island."

Sehun sucks in a breath. "Fourteen years? Then, you must have been..."

"Stranded, yes. When the barrier appeared around the Island, all of my countrymen who were outside it were stranded, including me."

Sehun remembers that. Remembers the huge uproar that swept the continent when an entire nation disappeared behind an impenetrable magical barrier, remembers his uncle ranting to his mother about the consequences of mortals playing with forces they don't understand. Fourteen years later, still no one has any idea what happened on the Island, or if anyone on it is even still alive.

Minseok sighs. "All my family, all my history, everything I had ever known was barred from me. And none of the surrounding countries will accept immigrants crossing the border because _no one likes you people_. So here I was, an elf stranded in a racist country with no idea when I might be able to go home." He sighs again, heavier. "After two years of enduring the ignorance and bile of an entire society that had barely ever even _seen_ an elf before, I was ready to do _anything_."

"So you hid," Sehun guesses. "Became someone else."

Shaking his head, Minseok says, "I never lied to anyone about who I am, Sehun. I simply didn't say everything. And the fact that you assume the color of my eyes or hair or skin changes me into a _different person_ probably says something about your worldview."

Sehun frowns. "I didn't mean..." But he kind of did, and he knows it, so he shuts his mouth.

After a moment of silence, he instead asks, "Why pink hair?"

It startles a laugh out of Minseok. "Oh, that. It was supposed to be red. Only humans have naturally red hair, you know." Sehun glances around the side of his head to his face, and catches a glimpse of a reassuringly familiar smile. "I guess the magic wasn't _quite_ strong enough for that, so it ended up pink. I was trying to blend in, but it made me stand out more than ever." He shrugs a little. "Story of my life."

Sehun smiles. "So...how old are you, then?"

A huff. "Are you sure you want to know?"

"Minseok, I...I still..." The words get caught in his throat. He swallows them and tries again. "Nothing has changed between us. Can you just...be patient with me?"

Minseok glances over his shoulder. "Am I ever anything else?"

It's a fleeting urge, but one Sehun consciously decides to act on, that has him leaning over Minseok's shoulder to press a kiss to his lips. Minseok's mouth is slack under his own, with surprise, Sehun hopes, and not distaste.

Minseok stares. Sehun stares back.

"I'm four hundred and thirty-two this summer," Minseok says finally.

Sehun blinks and sits back. "Oh," he says. "That's older than I thought."

His laugh is brighter this time. "Don't say it like _that_ , child. I have centuries ahead of me yet."

Shaking his head, Sehun murmurs, “Four hundred years. I can barely comprehend that amount of time. Things must have been so different.” Then, a thought occurs to him, and his head snaps up. “Oh. The war, the Amber War, three hundred years ago. You were _alive_ then.”

“Ha. Alive, yes. I fought in it.” Sehun stares, eyes wide. “I was very young then, just out of my apprenticeship. Perhaps equivalent in experience and maturity to you now. Filled with ardency and zeal.” Minseok shakes his head. “I will not regale you now with tales of the horrors I witnessed. Let it only be said that _here_ was the _last_ place I ever wanted to make my home.” 

His ministrations done, Sehun carefully re-capped his jar and set it aside. “But you stayed,” he said. “You never managed to cross the border?”

Minseok turned to face him. “I...once I was changed, once I moved to the city, I found myself...making friends. Making a life, a _home_ , however much shabbier it was than what I had known. So yes, I stayed. And when I heard the stirrings of revolution, I thought, _these young people are making a change, and I want to help them do it._ ”

Sehun took his hands. “I’m glad you stayed. Truly.”

“You’re not…” Minseok bites at his lip. “You’re not repulsed by me?”

Fuck. “No, Minseok, of course not.” Sehun leans forward and kisses him again, more fervently this time. His lips, at least, are the same. “You were beautiful to me before and you’re beautiful to me now.” He smiles, and tries to make it as convincingly sincere as he can. “I’ll get used to seeing you like this in no time. I’m very adaptable.”

A huff of a laugh against his lips. “That you are, for certain.” His hands wind into Sehun’s. “Thank you. I almost told you when you said you had studied at the elven university, but we didn’t know each other well then, and...well. What a man will say, and what he will do, are often different things entirely.”

“Honestly,” Sehun murmurs, “Chanyeol’s magic disturbs me much more than this.”

He gets a skeptical eyebrow, a familiar expression on unfamiliar features. “Is that so? Your priorities may be a little skewed, darling.”

It isn’t the first time Minseok has called him by a pet name, but for some reason, this time it affects Sehun greatly. He throws his arms around Minseok’s shoulders, remembering at the last second to avoid his back, and buries his face in the side of Minseok’s neck.

“I love you,” he blurts out, the words bubbling up from within him and tumbling from his lips to sink into Minseok’s skin.

He can feel Minseok’s pulse racing under his cheek. Slowly, Minseok wraps his own arms around Sehun’s waist. 

“Thank you,” he breathes.

 

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

 

It’s been an entire month since Sehun’s world was ripped out from under him when he once again dresses in the highest of fashion and prepares himself to face the society he was born into. Kris, similarly dressed and walking beside him, cuts an extraordinarily dashing and intimidating figure in the tailored jacket and brocade waistcoat, and only because Sehun knows him does he see how uncomfortable the fine clothes make him. They’re both wearing as much amber as they could find.

“I’m going to let you do the talking,” Kris had said, last night when they went over their plan at dinner. “I’m there to answer questions you can’t, and to watch your back.”

Sehun had eyed him. “You don’t think they’re going to listen,” he’d accused.

“No,” Kris had confirmed. “I don’t. But we have to give them the chance, or we’re no better than they are.”

And so, here they are, climbing the steps of the Assembly side-by-side. Neither are armed, because they know they would not be allowed inside if they were, and though in theory the Assembly is a violence-free space, Sehun can’t help but feel very exposed.

The feeling only worsens when they are announced, and a ripple of shock goes through the crowd at the sound of Sehun’s name. Kyungsoo had told him that his uncle had reported him dead in order to reclaim his assets, so it comes as no surprise to Sehun that much of the Assembly looks as though they have seen a ghost.

He finds his uncle’s face in the crowd, pale and horrified, and holds his gaze as he leans into the speaker’s horn.

“Twenty-four days ago,” he begins, “I was betrayed by my own family.”

It gets the room’s full attention, as it is meant to. And Sehun speaks. He narrates his personal experience and three more stories like his own. He lists, in the strongest, most visceral words he knows, the atrocities committed against the lower class, doing everything he can to bring the imaginations of these sheltered, pampered individuals into the experiences they’ve forced onto others.

Then, he lays out the terms. That certain laws be laid down to protect the health, livelihood, and dignity of the working class. That the lower classes have a voice in the Assembly, one that is on equal footing and equal power with the merchant and executive classes. And finally, that the workers in each individual facility be allowed to organize, and to negotiate with their employers as a group.

“And if these terms are not met,” Sehun concludes, his voice as strong and hard and confident as he can possibly make it, “we will be forced to take less peaceful action. The people of this city will no longer kneel at your feet and allow you to climb to prosperity upon their backs.”

He takes a step back, signaling that he is done. There is stunned silence in the room for a long moment.

Sehun is not shocked when the first man gets to his feet and calls for Sehun’s expulsion from the building. He’s a little surprised his uncle wasn’t the first to stand, but then, the man has proven himself a coward, and in any case as soon as more than three people have begun the outcry he’s quick to join them. Sehun takes a deep breath, and feels Kris tensing beside him.

He had hoped, against all hope, that they would see reason. But it would mean too big of a change for them, too much of their power lost. There’s no way they would let it happen without a fight.

 _Well_ , Sehun thinks, glancing up at the highest part of the audience to see Kyungsoo’s mouth moving as he recites an incantation from a small scroll. _If they want a fight, they’re going to get one._

Guards are advancing on the podium. Kris locks his fingers between Sehun’s so they don’t get separated, but they go with the guards docilely, as planned. Kris has not said one word in the entire time he’s been in the building and Sehun wonders if it would have gone differently if he had.

As they leave the room, Sehun glances back over his shoulder in time to see a tiny red spark fly straight up through the roof, and the scroll dissolve into ash in Kyungsoo’s hands. Sehun hopes Chanyeol receives the signal, because if he doesn’t, all of this was for naught.

The guards get both Sehun and Kris by the arms, pistols pointed at their heads, and start to lead them down a side hallway rather than out of the building. Sehun sucks in a breath - prison, they’re taking them to the _prison_ \- and tightens his grip on Kris’s hand, willing the older man to _do something_. He’s not a fighter; he has no idea how to get out of this. Kris squeezes his hand, but his face does not change, and he makes no moves to fight the guards.

Sehun finds out why half a minute later, when they turn the corner and a white-haired blur comes out of absolute _nowhere_. Both guards are on the ground in seconds, and Sehun doesn’t stop to see if they are dead or merely unconscious.

Minseok comes to a halt, wincing and rolling out his shoulders. The ointment has speeded his healing considerably, but Sehun knows his wound still pains him, and possibly always will. Sehun goes straight for him, reaching, and Minseok pulls him close and presses a swift, hard kiss to his mouth.

“I take it it went over about as well as expected,” he says dryly, drawing a second sword from his belt and handing it to Kris. 

“He was brilliant,” Kris says. “But they were never going to listen. It’s war, Min.”

A long sigh. “So be it,” Minseok says. He tugs a loaded pistol from his pack and hands it to Sehun. “Did Soo get the signal off?”

“He did,” Sehun murmurs. “We have to get out of here.”

Kris nods. “This way,” he says, pointing down the hall.

The route he takes appears to be a servants’ entrance, and Sehun wonders how many buildings in the city have secret back ways like this that only the lower classes know of. The executives have already handed their lives to their servants, without even realizing it.

They are at the door and just pulling on their respirators when the first explosion rocks the ground. Cries of alarm and confusion ring out from all directions, muffled by the walls; a second explosion, closer and stronger, makes the entire building shake.

“Here we go,” Kris growls, and shoves the door open with his shoulder.

Chaos has already erupted in the streets outside the Assembly building. Revolutionaries in brown and cream and amber form pockets of resistance against confused and panicking city guards. The occasional executive dots the fray, flanked by guards and barking orders that are inconsistently followed. 

Sehun hangs behind the two more experienced men, eyes darting from side to side to watch for attack, but they are mostly ignored in the confusion. Only one little group of guards takes an interest, and Kris dispatches them single-handedly by brutally knocking aside the first to come near and then snarling like an animal at the other two. They decide to back down, to Sehun’s relief. Much of the city guard are brothers and sisters and cousins of the revolution, and though it may be a fruitless goal they are still trying to get through this with as little loss of life as possible.

The courthouse nearby has a long steel ladder bolted to the sides, weathered and pitted by smog and rain but relatively well-kept. Sehun begins the climb behind Kris, Minseok waiting at the bottom for them to get out of arm’s reach in case someone tries to stop them before following.

He’s halfway up when another explosion, the closest and loudest one yet, shudders the very air. Sehun’s foot slips, and his world tips back dangerously before instinct kicks in and he’s dangling from a rung by his hands.

But Sehun barely has time to cry out in alarm before his flailing foot connects with something. He looks down and sees Minseok has pushed his shoulders under Sehun’s feet, bearing his weight. Sehun quickly pushes off, stepping back onto the rung, his heart jerking when Minseok winces in pain below him.

“Thank you,” he gasps.

“Keep going,” Minseok calls back.

Though his hands are shaking with adrenaline and fear, Sehun does make it to the top, pulling himself over the wall and collapsing onto the flat roof. Minseok is moments behind him, a soft _ah_ of pain as he falls to his knees.

“You keep saving me,” Sehun says, giddy and shaking.

“Good,” Minseok retorts. “You’re worth saving.” He struggles tiredly to his feet. “Damn, I’m too old for this,” he jokes.

But his arms are strong when he hauls Sehun up onto his feet, and his presence is comforting at Sehun’s side, giving him the energy to cross the roof where Kris has already met with Chanyeol and Jongdae.

Chanyeol is _radiating_ heat, the air around him visibly distorting and a halo of fiery light around his skin. Jongdae and Kris are standing well away from him, at the edge of the wall overlooking the city.

Kris sees them and beckons. “Come look at this,” he says, urgently.

Sehun looks where he’s pointing. In the distance he sees two fires burning brightly, but where the third one should be, there is but a huge pillar of black smoke rising from an oddly blank spot in the landscape.

Minseok sucks in a noisy breath. “The steel mill,” he says.

“The furnace was too hot,” Jongdae says softly. “It exploded, and the ground underneath gave way. The whole thing just... _sank_. It’s nothing but a crater, a hole in the ground.”

Sehun squeezes Minseok’s hand, staring at the distant carnage.

“Was everyone out?” Minseok asks urgently.

Kris shakes his head. “They were supposed to be, but...there’s no way to know for sure.”

“Hang on,” Chanyeol calls from behind them, and moments later another explosion rocks the landscape, another pillar of fire and smoke rises on the horizon. The people below are screaming.

His breath coming short, Sehun backs away. He can’t look anymore.

“Sehun,” Minseok calls, following after him. Sehun turns his back and drops his eyes to the roof under his feet. It takes all his willpower not to cover his ears with his hands.

Warm, familiar hands on his shoulders cause him to look up. Minseok’s watching his face, concern etched into the lines around his eyes. “Are you alright?”

“No,” Sehun whispers. “We did that, Minseok. _We did that_.”

Minseok reaches up and strokes the side of his neck. “It was the only option we had left,” he reasons.

“I know. But all those people. All that history, just…” His shoulders are shaking, his _entire body_ is shaking, and he can’t stop it.

A small, distressed noise. “I’ll get you out of here,” Minseok promises. “We’ll sneak out of the city, out of the _country_. This is no place for you.”

Everything in Sehun’s body rebels. “No!” he cries, and Minseok’s eyes widen. “No. This is my _home_ , Minseok, these are my _people_. I _will_ fight for them.”

Minseok’s other hand comes up, cupping the other side of Sehun’s neck. “I love you,” he whispers fervently, and Sehun has to fight to keep from bursting into tears. “Whether you’re out there fighting or in the Assembly speaking or somewhere else hiding, I don’t care, I’ll go where you go. If you need to leave, no one will think less of you.”

Sehun wraps his hands around Minseok’s wrists. He wishes the air were clear so he could kiss Minseok right now; instead he must settle for pressing his forehead to Minseok’s. “My place is here,” he breathes. “I will fight.”

“Alright,” Minseok agrees, nodding. “Alright.”

“Sehun,” Kris calls, and they both look up. “You should see this.”

Taking as deep a breath as he can manage in the stinking smog, Sehun crosses the roof again, Minseok by his side. Kris points at the horizon, and it takes a moment for Sehun to realize what he’s pointing at.

The factory. _His_ factory.

“It’s the last one,” Kris says. “Are you ready?”

Sehun nods.

Behind him, Chanyeol pulses with hot, burning power. One last explosion rends the skyline.

Held in Minseok’s arms, Sehun watches as his old life is burned to ash, to make way for the new.


End file.
